


What's Past Is Prologue

by Pitry



Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitry/pseuds/Pitry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ancient and peaceful people of Messaline need a mythological hero to save them from the terrible Daleks. Harry Potter is looking forward to be the sidekick on this one, but the universe has ideas of its own. Doctor Who after Journey's End, Harry Potter after Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 1)

**Author's Note:**

> For this story to work, the reader is kindly requested to pretend those bits of The Shakespeare Code didn't happen. They were, indeed, very cool, but would make the whole sandbox a bit too complicated to play with.
> 
> Doctor Who and its mad universe belong to the BBC. Harry Potter and its magnificent world are owned by JK Rowling.

Dudley Dursley stood at the door of his parents’ house in Little Whinging and stared at the neighbours’ cat in boredom. It had been a little over a month since the Dursleys returned to Privet Drive. Their neighbours had all been told well in advance that Vernon Dursley had accepted a temporary position abroad, and the entire family was relocating for an unknown period of time. It had been a lie, of course. They had spent most of the past year in hiding. After all that time cooped up inside, Dudley enjoyed the fresh air, even when the day was uncharacteristically hot for July and the sun was still baking him, this late in the evening.

Right now, he was most of all trying to avoid his parents’ friends and relatives. It took Petunia Dursley over a month to re-arrange the house to her complete satisfaction. That is, to make sure any gossip by the neighbours and friends who would see the house would be one of jealousy, not gloating - or worse, pity. Once she was assured of that, she made sure to throw the biggest party she had ever had. Dudley, then, was not allowed to go out with his friends as he did every night since coming back, but was expected to stay at home for the party. Frankly, he was going mad with boredom.

He took his eyes away from the cats for a second, finishing up the piece of cake in his hand and looking for something to wipe it on. Failing to find anything usable he reached for his trousers, when a surprisingly familiar voice made him jump.

“Hey, Big D,” Harry was now standing right in front of Dudley, where a second ago only the empty streets and cats could be seen. “Catch.”

A football was thrown at him, and Dudley caught it by instinct, and then proceeded to stare at his cousin for a moment with his mouth slightly open. Deep inside, he never expected to see Harry again. After all, the Dursleys and their nephew had never been on good terms, and with each passing year Harry spent less and less of his summer in Privet Drive, practically saying he couldn’t wait to be rid of his family once and for all. But it wasn’t just Harry’s reappearance on the Dursleys’ doorstep that had shocked Dudley. Harry had looked significantly different from the last time they met. He seemed thinner than he’d ever seen him before, his usually messy black hair longer than it had ever been and somehow even more messy than usual, his eyes had black bags underneath, and he had a general air of tiredness radiating from him. It wasn’t very hard to guess why, of course. The last time they saw him, Harry made it quite clear he was in mortal peril, chased by the same man who had murdered his parents. He must have been in hiding himself, on the run from that psychopath until that time the wizards told the Dursleys they were finally safe. A little bit over a month ago. And now he was standing there, looking tired but still wearing a small smirk, and Dudley remained with his mouth open, unsure what to say in response. None of the things that came to his mind would work. He seemed unable to think of a single thing he could say to his cousin that didn’t sound terrible to his own ears. So, Harry, I take it the psychopath who was after you is gone. Hi, Harry, how was your year? We were in hiding! Say, did you kill anyone lately?

Eventually, it was Harry who broke the silence. “So, feel like a game of one-on-one?”

“Sure,” Dudley said, clinging to the one part of this encounter he could make sense of, even if the two of them had never done anything together in their lives.

They played for a while in the setting sun, and he soon learned Harry wasn’t very good at football, at least compared to him. He easily blocked most of his cousin’s attacks on his goal post, and scored almost as easily against him. When they stopped for a quick drink from the water fountain and to get rid of the sweat-drenched shirts, throwing them next to Harry’s discarded bag and wand, it occurred to him his cousin might not be playing to win at all.

The summer sun was now almost gone, but as far as they could tell, it might as well have been high in the sky. The half-dead grass that had absorbed the hot rays all day long seemed to have had enough. Instead of absorbing the heat, Dudley could have sworn it was radiating it at the two of them. The last sun-rays themselves seemed relentless, determined to bake them until the very last moment. But neither one of the two teenagers seemed to care: Harry was running without pause all over the grass, trying to score, or - as Dudley later suspected - trying to find a reason not to stop running. Dudley was also playing brutally, taking advantage of his cousin’s complete lack of strategy and using every chance he had to reach the opposite goal.

But eventually, both of them had run out of energy. With the last rays of the sun gone into the horizon, the two collapsed on the grass in exhaustion, breathing heavily.

“You know, you’re rubbish in this game,” Dudley said once he caught his breath, and immediately wanted to kick himself. It was the force of habit, more than anything else - he didn’t really know how to be nice to his cousin. Whenever he tried, he ended up not saying a word.

“Yeah, well, it if was Quidditch, I would have kicked your arse,” Harry replied, but with a touch of humour in his voice. He seemed to realise Dudley didn’t intend to be mean.

“What’s Quidditch?” Dudley asked.

“A bit like basketball. Only not really. And you play it on broomsticks.”

“Broomsticks?”

Harry gestured vaguely at the sky. “In the air.”

“Ah.”

They stared at the darkening sky in silence for a bit longer. Dudley couldn’t help but sneak a glance at his cousin - in addition to the familiar lightning-bolt scar, he seemed to have acquired something nasty and squiggly on his right hand - almost like handwriting, Dudley realised, except that he couldn’t tell what it said. And then, on his neck, something that looked like a white-hot chain was pressed there, or perhaps a burn from a thin line choking him. Harry must have noticed he was looking at the new scar, as he turned away and put his soaked shirt back on. “It’s a...” he started saying, but something must have caught his eye. He stared ahead for such a long time that Dudley was beginning to think he had forgotten all about the sentence. But eventually he said “... Long story. It’s a long story.” Dudley smiled at him, trying to end the awkward moment, and Harry got up on his feet.

“Time to go. It was nice seeing you, Dudley.”

“Wait,” Dudley said, getting to his feet as well, and not quite sure what he wanted to say. Harry looked at him for a moment, expecting him to explain, and Dudley eventually settled for “Mum and Dad are having a party, there’s some pretty good cake.”

Harry still didn’t say anything, and it suddenly crossed Dudley’s mind that perhaps, after all these years, he wasn’t quite sure he was understanding Dudley correctly. “Want to drop by? Have a piece? It’s a really good cake,” Dudley clarified, and Harry smirked.

“Yeah, I don’t think Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be very happy to see me eating their cake,” he said.

“Yeah. I know. All the more reason to come,” Dudley answered, and Harry’s smirk turned into a full blown laughter. Dudley joined him.

“Better not, I guess,” he said when the laughter died down. “But thanks for the offer.” He picked up his wand and his bag.

“Where are you staying now?” Dudley asked.

“London. My godfather’s house.”

“Oh. It’s going to take a while, to get to London now,” Dudley said, and Harry laughed again.

“Wizard, remember?”

“Right. It probably takes you people five minutes.”

“More like five seconds,” Harry said. “Watch this.” He then turned on the spot, and disappeared. Dudley stared for a while in amazement at the place where his cousin had been standing not a moment ago, and shook his head in laughter. He then put on up his own shirt, and kicked the football all the way home, feeling surprisingly lighthearted.

 

*

 

The residents of Grimmauld Place were always amused with the silly mistake in their street’s house numbers. While most streets had all the range of house numbers, or skipped the unlucky number 13, in Grimmauld Place it was number 12 that had been skipped. Whenever a new neighbour had moved into the street, they would comment on this strange phenomenon, and enjoy the confusion. This was, however, the most the residents of Grimmauld Place had ever communicated with each other. Even comparing to the regular standards of city streets, the various families in Grimmauld Place seemed more concerned with their privacy and peace than with bonding with their neighbours. No one asked too many questions, no one peeped into their neighbours’ window or bin, and at nightfall they all went back into their home to watch television and play with their children, and cared little for the world outside. Even their welcoming routine for new neighbours had been limited to the jokes about Number 12, and on special occasions, pie. This was London, after all. They saw millions of people every day, and cared little for them.

It wasn’t, therefore, completely expected that they would notice their street’s routine had changed somewhat in the recent months. And yet, some of them did. They came home, kissed their spouse, asked the kids how was school and complained about Gareth in the Office, or what That Annoying Lisa did today, as always - and then casually noted once again the number of weird, cloaked fools walking up and down the street at ungodly hours.

The residents of Numbers Eleven and Thirteen were the first to notice - and after a couple of weeks, they even initiated a conversation on the matter with one another as they met near the bins. It wasn’t long before Number Fifteen was in on the gossip as well. By the end of the week, they had talked with Number Ten for the first time in their lives about anything other than the noise their children were prone to make. That Friday, all the neighbours gathered together in the living room of Number Thirteen for chips and beer, and watched the street while chatting eagerly.

Before long, Grimmauld Place had developed a community of sorts, united in the Secret of the Cloaked People. Soon, everyone stopped bringing Shepherd’s Pie, because Susan at Number Thirteen was vegetarian. The recipe John at Number Six provided for his chocolate-brownies-with-amaretto was making the rounds, and no one could stop saying how tasty it was. When Katie-at-Number-Nine’s ex-husband stopped paying the money he owed her, they all helped a bit, and Margaret from Number Ten, who was a lawyer, provided some sound legal advice. They still met near the bins and chattered, but now it was all the gossip about the new guy Barbara from Five was dating and how was Katie doing. Sometimes, they still mentioned the Cloaked People.

And in all that time, none of them ever thought to connect this phenomenon - or, indeed, their new found friendship - with the boy, barely out of his teens, who had been seen crossing the street every morning, carrying a bag on his back. And why should they? In his unkempt clothes and messy hair, he looked like any fresh student, going to class or whatever it was boys his age did these days, which probably involved graffiti and anti-social behaviour. After all, they had better things to discuss now.

Had any of them cared to notice, they would have seen the boy - a young man, in fact - appearing as if out of thin air every morning between numbers 11 and 13, walking towards one of the main public gardens of London, sitting down on the grass, and taking out big, ancient books, parchments and quills, reading and taking notes - not so different, in fact, from any other young man in the area. Except that everything about him was completely different.

The squirrels and pigeons, of course, knew otherwise. They had noticed the one thing in their life that had become constant, other than bicker with one another and swim in the small fountain. But squirrels and pigeons could not talk.

To the eight million dwellers of London, that young man was invisible.

Well... eight million bar one.

*

Inside the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the room was dark and messy. A big pot stood on the cooker, with the remains of something that might have been soup but had seen better days at its bottom. A few plates were in the sink, waiting to be washed, while a couple more were still on the table, where their owner had last eaten from them. Some wrappers of pre-prepared meals and sandwiches could be seen in the bin.

The table itself was full of papers, copies of the the recent weeks’ editions of the Daily Prophet. The oldest headline read ‘SHACKLEBOLT NAMED TEMPORARY MINISTER; MINISTRY AT DISARRAY’. Above it, another headline glared:

‘POTTER SHUNTED FROM MINISTRY? THE CHOSEN ONE MISSING by Rita Skeeter’

 _THE temporary Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has announced today that he intends to continue in his role. The Minister, who had taken the role on a temporary basis at the end of the war, is said to have ‘big plans’ to return the Ministry for Magic to its former glory. Commenting on the rumours from the past several weeks that the role would be offered to Harry Potter, Minister Shacklebolt said: “That’s nonsense. The boy’s eighteen. Any job he would be interested in is his, obviously, but he’s no yet up to being Minister, nor does he even want the role. What a ridiculous notion. You people need to find something better to do with your time.”  
Despite this announcement, the Daily Prophet has learned that Potter is indeed very much interested in the job, and the Minister’s men are doing their best to dissuade him from taking this next logical step. A source deep within the Ministry had commented that Minister Shacklebolt has approved any and all means necessary to stop Potter from achieving his ambition. Regrettably, Potter could not be located to give his comment, and rumours have it that the Boy Who Lived has been taken into custody in the Ministry by orders of the Minister himself, supposedly to ‘protect’ him from any Death Eaters who still remain at large, but no confirmation could be made._

Next to this piece, a message was written in red ink:  
‘Harry, you might enjoy this. Apparently, we’re mortal enemies, and I possibly killed you and fed your body to rabid hippogriffs. I’ll try to make it to the Burrow tomorrow on time for your party, but if I can’t, happy birthday! Kingsley’.

On the other side of the table sat the subject of the paper’s article and speculation, quite free and eating a simple breakfast of toast and coffee while reading the latest headline. The headline itself screamed from the page: ‘INCOMPETENCE AT THE MINISTRY; DEATH EATERS STILL AT LARGE STRIKE AGAIN.’ Harry Potter was not, however, interested in this headline, but in the smaller piece at the bottom of the page:

‘MALFOY TRIAL TO BEGIN IN THREE DAYS AMIDST DISCUSSION OF SLYTHERIN HOUSE ACTION.’  
 _WHILE the trials of the apprehended Death Eaters continue, the Ministry of Magic has been urged to act against the sons and daughters of known Death Eaters, who have been involved with He Who Must Not Be Named in the most recent war. The best example of these would be the son of known Death Eater and once the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy, who has already been given a life sentence in Azkaban Prison, has raised his only son, Draco, to the same beliefs. Indeed Draco, 18, is now about to stand trial for his own actions during the war, and is rumoured to have been a key player in You-Know-Who’s plans and the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and to have been initiated as a full Death Eater as early as two years ago. Malfoy is currently at the centre of a new campaign led by Ministry officials to disband Slytherin House and prevent all those students currently in Slytherin and the children and siblings of known Slytherin Death Eaters from attending Hogwarts. No comment has been made by the Ministry.’_

Harry threw the paper away from him in disgust, and looked again at the letter that had arrived in the post that morning.

‘Dear Mr. Potter,’ it said, ‘you are hereby requested to appear in front of the Wizengamot on the 28th of August, 1998, to testify in the case against Mr Draco Malfoy. Yours, Esmeralda E. Allen, Wizengamot Administration Office.’

He read the letter again in silence, his toast forgotten on the plate. Next to him, an already opened letter from the Ministry of Magic, written by the Minister himself, had announced he would be visited by ministry officials later that morning. Harry noted irritably that Kingsley Shacklebolt did not even bother to ask, merely stated as fact that they would be coming. Well, that was his morning wasted.

But Harry had learned to expect this. Kingsley Shacklebolt - and other ministry employees - had been coming in and out of Grimmauld Place for the past couple of months. Voldemort had been defeated for good, but the magical community was far from healed. And there were still Death Eaters out there. The cleverer ones fled, trying to hide from the long arms of the Ministry. But there were others - ruthless, stupid, evil, who preferred to continue fighting rather than hide.

And, as Harry was constantly reminded by his surroundings, he was their number one target. And so, he had to deal with more security measures than he ever dreamed were possible - in a way, the protection around him felt more comprehensive than during the time Voldemort was still alive. But it wasn’t just security measures that Kingsley wanted to discuss.

There was a moment when Harry thought it would be different. Then, in the morning after the big battle, the one people were calling now The Battle of Hogwarts, everyone was tired, when the euphoria was slowly passing and the sheer numbers of the dead became visible. And in their tiredness, just for a couple of hours, just for a morning, no one seemed to be looking for Harry. In those few hours, he had allowed himself the hope that things would be different, that now Voldemort was dead, the wizarding world would not need him anymore.

He was, of course, mistaken. Soon, request after request came to the Weasleys, where he had stayed immediately after the battle. It started with the Daily Prophet, but it wasn’t long before Arthur Weasley came home from work, sat Harry down, and told him that the Minister would like to have a word. They needed him - of course they did. They wanted everyone to know he was happy with the Ministry; who he thought should be the permanent Minister; what did he want to do and how the Ministry could help him; and so on and on. Right now, he said, all he wanted to do was to sit his N.E.W.T.s so that he would be eligible for Auror training. They all laughed. If that’s what he wanted to do, they said, of course he could, after all, it’s not like he didn’t have any experience fighting dark wizards. But he wanted to do it properly.

And if he was going to do it properly, he couldn’t afford wasting the day sitting on more boring Ministry things that did not really require anything from him, other than the assurance that Harry Potter is involved in the Ministry’s plans. He put the letter down on the table, and picked up his books. When the Ministry wizards would arrive at 12 Grimmauld Place, they would find the house deserted, and Harry would have some peace and quiet outside. He took one last bite of the now cold toast and picked up his books. His gaze fell again on the court summons. He picked it up angrily, and crumpled the paper into a small ball, which was then thrown unceremoniously into the fireplace. Harry opened the door and left the house.

*

“D’ya mind if I sit here?”

It was the end of summer, and Harry was trying to make the best of the warm sun. He was sitting on the grass, overlooking the water fountain in which a flock of pigeons and several small children were chasing each other and enjoying the cool water. The Square was packed with families, tourists, and even some students who, like himself, were catching up on their reading, undoubtedly preparing for the next term. They were filling the benches, the grass and the small café on the other side of the fountain. The bustle of people coming and going, of the cars and buses just outside the square and of the various shops nearby was deafening, but Harry didn’t mind - all around him was life, and that was worth the noise. Harry himself was sitting by himself until that moment, surrounded by books, looking like the typical student. He had done so every day for the past week, catching up on spells, charms and potions, re-reading about past events and various dark creatures, and was mostly undisturbed - until today. But with the brilliant sun, it was only to be expected his peace would not last for long. He did not begrudge the Muggle who interrupted him, just shrugged and buried himself deeper in his book.

It wasn’t three seconds before the Muggle spoke again. “Heavy reading, huh?”

Harry raised his eyes for just a moment. “Studying,” he said and immediately returned to the book, hoping to make his point clear.

“Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms?”

He was clearly unsuccessful, then. Harry just remained quiet, with the hope the man would miraculously go away.

“A bit late in the year to study for your N.E.W.T.s, isn’t it? I thought the exams are in June,” the man mused, and for the first time, Harry really took his eyes off the book and looked at him. He was tall, with a shock of brown hair that, much like Harry’s own, seemed to refuse to rest in one place, and interested, kind eyes. He was wearing a striped brown suit - and trainers. Unlike wizards, he seemed comfortable enough in his Muggle clothes, but that combination did raise Harry’s suspicion.

“You’re a wizard,” he stated flatly.

“Me? Nah. Just know a couple of people. They all took their N.E.W.T.s in June,” he added unhelpfully.

“Yeah, well, I missed the exams.”

“Pity,” the man commented. “I’m the Doctor, by the way. And you are?”

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter,” the Doctor said enthusiastically and shook his hands. To Harry’s relief, there was no sign of recognition, either in his eyes or in his voice. Not being recognised was starting to become a novelty. “Anyway, I’ll be off now. Don’t want to interrupt. It was a pleasure, meeting you.”

“Yeah, you too,” said Harry, and returned to his book, back to the fascinating world of portkeys and the various ways of creating and fine-tuning them.

But something kept on bugging him, in the back of his head, shouting to be heard. Harry snuck another look around the Square, trying to see if there was anything out of the ordinary - that is, more out of the ordinary than a wizard would expect - anything that might have caught his attention without him realising it. But the place was peaceful. On a bench near him, a couple were sitting and talking. Next to them, a squirrel was running up a tree, chased by a small terrier. A child ran in and out of the small fountain, and the two wizards in the corner were watching him intently.

The two wizards.... Harry jumped to his feet. The curse was quick to follow. Another second, and it would have hit him. He knew their faces. He’d seen them before. Not all Death Eaters had been caught, after all.

History forever repeats itself, a part of his mind reminded him as he grabbed his bag and ran for his life. Just like last time, like Alice and Frank Longbottom. The mad hope of those who refused to accept that they lost...

He ducked just in time to avoid another curse, and tried to send a hex at them himself, but missed. Were they trying to kill him, here in broad daylight? Or just capture him? He wasn’t going to stick around to find out, not with all these Muggles around. But he could hear them behind him. If he could just overrun them...

“Ouch!” he screamed as he fell to the ground, his leg completely numb. They’ve hit him with something, and now he knew, they weren’t going to kill him - not yet. Muggles stood and watched, not understanding what’s going on, but he couldn’t call for help, not to any of them. Anyone who would help him would only end up dead. He had no way to get away, unless...

“Harry!”

Don’t - you idiot - the man who talked to him earlier didn’t seem to understand the danger. And Harry’s leg was no longer numb, it felt like it was on fire. Blood dripped all over his trousers and onto the earth beneath him.

“Go, they’ll just kill you - can’t move,” he whispered towards the Doctor. But his saviour didn’t hear - or didn’t care.

“Come on,” he pulled him up by the arm and started carrying him. A curse missed them by inches. With his hand shaking, Harry tried to cast a shield charm between them and their attackers. The pain in his leg was becoming unbearable.

“Go! Save yourself! They’re only interested in me! They won’t hurt you if you’re not with me,” Harry said again, clenching his teeth.

“Nah - almost there. Come on!”

But there was nothing there. Nothing but a blue box.

The Doctor almost pushed Harry inside, and it would give them the cover - for all of three seconds - from the Death Eaters outside.

Harry’s mind barely registered the difference in size inside the box when the Doctor slammed the door, smiled - and then jumped as a curse hit the wooden doors, making the whole thing shake.

That part of Harry that was still too shocked to fully understand what was going on was impressed. He’d expect the wooden box to fall apart after the first curse - whatever it was that they were hitting them with, it was powerful. He clutched the railway to keep on standing.

But then, this was no ordinary box, wasn’t it? He eyed the Doctor in suspicion, but his saviour - or maybe his captor? - rushed to a console a the centre of the room, pressed a button, and all of a sudden, as the column started rising up and down, the noise from outside died. There were no more curses. No more Death Eaters.

Just a mysterious man who claimed to be a Muggle, and a mysterious blue box, and Harry’s leg that felt on fire.

“You lied to me,” he said, trying to ignore the excruciating pain.

“Yes.”

“You’re a wizard.”

“No.”

“It’s bigger on the inside!”

“Yes.”

“That’s magic!”

“No, that’s science.”

Harry snorted. “Science? What, like television and laptops and - “

“ - genetics.”

“Genetics?” Harry stopped, confused.

“Genetics,” the Doctor repeated. “What do you think magic is? Why some humans can do it while others don’t? It’s the latent abilities that exist in any human. But most of you can’t harness them. And then, for some of you, it’s not latent.”

“Magic.”

“Yup.”

“So what you’re saying it, Muggles have managed to figure out how to do magic without - magic.”

“Nah, they’re centuries away from it. Millennia, even,” the Doctor sniffled. “They’re going to go insane trying to crack some of it, I would suggest to stay away from any laboratories if I were you.”

“But how can you know this? Wizards don’t know genetics, and Muggles don’t know magic. There’s no one with enough knowledge to make the connection.”

“Ah.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor, hello!”

*

It was later. Things have happened.

One thing, for example, included Harry discovering he can’t use magic inside the Tardis. At all. There was only one time in his life he felt so scared.

He learned to rely on magic. Got used to it. Why not? After all, it was always there, always available, comfortable, and in the past year since he’s come of age, available had a whole different meaning. After seven years of using magic, his wand became as much a part of him as the hand holding it. And now he was vulnerable. Naked. Given to the mercy of a stranger - a stranger who might as well want him dead.

“I’m not a Death Eater,” the man who would only introduce himself as The Doctor said softly.

Harry didn’t come any closer, but remained in his corner of the magic box next to the door. As painful as it was to stand - and he was eyeing the seats at the other side of the column with ongoing desperation, sure his leg would give way any moment - he remained standing. “Why should I believe you?” he demanded. “I can’t even use magic here!”

“It’s the temporal field. It’ll pass. And to be honest... you don’t have much of a choice.”

“Let me out,” Harry said, summoning all of his self control. He faced the worst already. There was nothing more they could do to him. Except that now he stood to lose Ginny; the first chance he had ever had at a normal life - and not just for himself, he owed Teddy one, too; the Weasleys won’t be be able to take another loss, and...

“No,” the Doctor said quietly.

“Why not?” Harry retorted, defiant. He will not give in, he will not let them -

“Well, first thing, we’re in flight at the moment, which means that if you go outside now, you’ll fall into the Time Vortex. We don’t want that. Not after I saved your life, anyway.”

Harry considered this for a moment. It made no sense. Flight? Time vortex? It sounded like - like magic would sound to a Muggle, the thought occurred to him. He was a wizard, that didn’t mean he knew everything. Maybe there were some things in the world that had managed to remain hidden from the wizards, just as the wizards managed to remain a secret to Muggle society. The man seemed honest enough, and besides, he truly could not stand any longer. The leg wasn’t bleeding anymore, but Harry felt as if all of his blood was slowly flowing out of his body, and tiredness was slowly overcoming him. And so, instead of answering, he half-limped, half-dragged himself towards the chairs, in silence. But he was still resentful, still suspicious. He didn’t understand this - he didn’t understand any of this. Riddles, clues, mysteries. When Voldemort was around, at least he knew who he was facing - what he was facing. Not that it made it easier, or pleasant, but it was clear. Ever since it all ended, all rules were off. He thought that would be good. Finally, a normal life - as normal as he could live with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead and the name of Harry Potter. With the constant admiring looks, wherever he went. With the meetings - what other eighteen year old, who didn’t even pass his N.E.W.T.s yet, sat in special councils with the Minister for Magic and the head of the Auror office?

But normal of some sort. No one chasing him, no one after him, no longer having to hide, to scheme, to search for Horcruxes and Hallows, seeing everyone he cared about in mortal danger or dying or -

He didn’t even notice the Doctor was right next to him now, examining his leg. So deep in thoughts, and by now so drowsy and tired and confused, he lost track of what was going on around him.

“Don’t fall asleep, Harry,” the Doctor said softly, poking his leg with a small, wand-like device. “Stay with me.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to reply. He didn’t have the energy to keep his eyes open. He didn’t even have the energy to be afraid anymore.

“Harry? Harry?” said the voice, but it was becoming more and more distant. Harry closed his eyes.

It took him about five minutes to open them again. For a moment, he was disoriented. He could hear a weird humming all around him - a sound that was almost mechanical. Most of all it reminded him of the sound the Dursleys’ refrigerator made every once in a while. Not a sound that was likely to be heard in any wizarding home - not one he had ever heard in Grimmauld place. And then he remembered, and opened his eyes.

The man - the Doctor - was kneeling next to him, brandishing a wand of metal at his leg. No, not a wand. A mechanical device. Their earlier conversation came back to his mind, science and magic. Maybe it really was a wand, but one that worked on electronic principles rather than magic. If he could believe a word this man had said.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

The Doctor looked up, realising for the first time Harry was awake, and smiled. “Trying to make you better,” he said. “And looks like I’m succeeding. I am very good, mind,” he sniffled and got up. “That was one jinx they hit you with,” he said, gesturing at Harry’s leg.

It was Harry’s first opportunity to have a look at his leg. His trousers were cut above the knee, undoubtedly in order to give the Doctor a better look at the leg. Underneath the knee, Harry’s leg seemed to change colours like a chameleon. Some of it was purple, other parts yellow. He could have sworn there was a green bit, but preferred not to dwell on colours that had no business appearing on human legs. And all the while, the Doctor kept on brandishing his mechanical wand at him.

Whatever he was doing, it really did seem to be working. The purple bits were turning yellow. The yellow was turning a faded blue, and those areas that were already faded blue seemed to become more and more pink by the second. Even the green bits had completely disappeared. The numb feeling was also gone - Harry could feel his entire leg now. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing, as it hurt terribly, but then the pain was slowly fading as well. Soon, Harry could stand again, and the only sign there was ever something wrong with his leg were his mutilated trousers.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and the Doctor smiled at him, getting up. “What is it, anyway? Your wand. Is it a mechanical wand? One of those things that can imitate magic by science?”

“Oh, no,” the Doctor said. “It’s not a wand at all. It’s a sonic screwdriver.”

“Sorry?”

“A sonic screwdriver. A screwdriver that’s... sonic.”

“A screwdriver?” Harry asked sceptically.

“That’s sonic. Look,” the Doctor replied and waved the thing around. A light shone briefly at the edge, and the same hum he woke up to could be heard again.

“But it healed my leg,” Harry insisted. “I’ve never heard of a screwdriver that can heal legs.”

“It’s a very good screwdriver.” This, apparently, was the most the Doctor was willing to volunteer on the subject. He left Harry’s side, and turned back to the column at the centre of the room.

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“I told you, the Tardis.”

“And what is ‘the Tardis’?”

The Doctor turned back to him, wearing a smile from ear to ear. “My spaceship. It stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space.”

“And it’s bigger on the inside,” Harry said.

“Yup. That’s the ‘Relative’ bit,” the Doctor offered.

“So ‘time’ would be...”

“It’s a time machine.”

“I thought this was a spaceship.”

“It’s also a spaceship, yeah.”

From their tone of voice, Harry felt as if they were arguing. It didn’t seem right. The Doctor had just saved his life, a complete stranger in the street who just happened across a man being attacked and decided to save his life. Except it wasn’t like that at all. Harry now realised the Doctor knew perfectly well who he was when he first approached him. For all he knew, those Death Eaters were sent by the Doctor himself, a ploy to gain his trust, so they could avenge their fallen leader.

As the thought passed through his mind, Harry felt tired, just as tired as he felt earlier, when that spell was draining away his consciousness and energy, bit by bit. He was tired of being suspicious, and tired of wondering whether the people in front him were telling the truth or lying, whether they had his best interests at heart or were trying to use him. He had learned not too long ago: sometimes it was hard to tell which was which. And after learning the truth about Dumbledore, a different truth every time, or perhaps the same truth cast in a different light with every new piece of information, Harry had stopped believing he could tell the difference anymore. In a way, only suspicion remained: the only way to believe he’s not being unwittingly used by another wizard was to automatically assume that he was. His mind wondered to the Daily Prophet’s headlines, their speculations about his role in the Ministry and his relationship with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Others had expected him to be used, too.

And he was tired of it.

He didn’t realise it, could not put it into words. But at that moment, he decided to trust the Doctor, to believe that what he was saying was true, because he was too tired to do anything else.

“It’s a cool spaceship,” he said, then. He was only silent for a moment longer before he replied, but his demeanour changed in that minute: no longer was he immediately retorting and dismissing the Doctor’s words, looking for the fallacies, for where the tapestry would fall apart. This comment was made of pure interest. And after all, a time-travelling spaceship that was bigger on the inside was cool, if nothing else.

The Doctor seemed to understand Harry’s decision. He obviously relaxed, stopped eyeing Harry as if afraid of what Harry might do any moment, and this time his big smile was genuine. “Oh yes, it’s fantastic!” he patted the column. “It’s the most brilliant ship you could ever wish for.”

“And where are we now?” Harry asked.

“Nowhere,” said the Doctor cryptically.

“Nowhere?” Harry wasn’t quite capable of raising an eyebrow, but he was giving it his best shot.

“Nowhere... ish. We’re inside the Time Vortex.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It’s... nowhere. Sort of in-between dimensions. But not really. We’re travelling from one point to the other.”

“And where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet,” the Doctor said. “I could take you back home. The Ministry put protections over Grimmauld Place - there won’t be any Death Eaters waiting for you there. And I’m sure they would like to know you’re alright.”

“They probably don’t even - “ harry started, but was interrupted by the Doctor.

“Oh,” said his companion, “they do.”

He was right, of course, the Doctor. The level of protection over Harry was high, the tightest protection any single wizard got from the Ministry, tighter than the security given to the Minister itself. Kingsley joked about it. Back in the war, he said, they knew where the danger was coming from, even though it turned out to be anyone they didn’t know was completely trustworthy. These days, all they knew was that the last remaining Death Eaters were doing the best they could to hurt the Ministry - and Harry Potter, the man responsible for their fall from grace.

Of course the Ministry would know. And they would come rushing, worried, and tell him he was being irresponsible. And insist he stays inside Grimmauld Place, or with the Weasleys, who were still mourning the lose of their son, and Harry couldn’t help but feeling responsible even when everyone kept on telling him it wasn’t his fault, because he had survived against all odds while Fred -

“No,” he said. “Don’t take me back to Grimmauld Place.”

The Doctor turned a keen eye towards him. “Where to, then?” he asked.

Harry looked around him. The central column, which he now recognised as the controls for the spaceship, was glowing gold and green. Warm gold and green light radiated from the walls all around him. A structure, almost tree-like, stood to his left. Through the grating on the floor, he could see machinery. He gave another look around, and an idea formed in his mind.

“You said this was a spaceship,” he said.

“And a time machine,” the Doctor confirmed.

The image of the Wizengamot court subpoena swam into Harry’s mind. “How about somewhere in space and time?” he asked, to drive the image away. “Somewhere far far away. Somewhere I’ve never seen before.”

The Doctor smiled a big smile, and for a moment radiated the same amount of soft light as his impossible spaceship. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said, and pressed a button.

The column went up and down, and a whizzing sound was heard. The spaceship rocked, and Harry was flown back to the seats behind him. They were on their way.


	2. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 2)

The spaceship’s engine finally fell silent. The column stopped moving up and down, and rested in place. The room stopped rocking all around them. Uncertain, Harry reached with a shaking hand and grabbed the controls, dragging himself up.

“Wow,” he said, and started laughing. The Doctor joined in with the laughter. Once he had calmed down and stopped shaking, Harry asked, “Where are we?”

The Doctor looked at him with a cryptic face, “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

The Doctor gestured at a button. “Randomiser. The Tardis takes make wherever it wants to go. I just tag along for the ride.”

“And we can just go out there? No matter where it is?”

“What else would we do? Sit here and watch it on telly?”

“No, I meant - what if we say something wrong, or do something wrong, and change the entire universe or something!”

“It doesn’t work that way, the universe is more complicated than that!” the Doctor sounded almost impatient. “Stop over-thinking things and just open the door!”

“So outside this door - “

The Doctor’s smile was contagious. “Brave new world,” he said, and there was something in his eye, excited and happy. Brave new world. Sounded good to Harry

He walked towards the door and opened it. A cold breeze welcomed him, and then -

They were in a forest. The tall, thick trees were towering over them, in every direction, as far as the eye could see. But they did not block the sunlight. A warm sun stood high above in the sky, its rays giving the forest a bright glow, lighting flowers with colours so bright that Harry doubted they could ever be recreated on Earth, even by magic. Birds could be heard above them, calling in voices he had never heard. And the smell told of spring.

“It’s real. It’s really real. This really is an alien planet,” he breathed.

“Oh yeah,” the Doctor said.

Harry turned back to the mysterious man. “How?” he demanded. “Are you from the future? Did you use your time machine to visit the past?”

“Not - quite.”

“So?”

“I’m an alien,” said the Doctor. “Well, for you I’m an alien. For me, you’re the alien. I come from a race called Time Lords.”

“Time Lords?” Harry repeated, sceptical.

“Yup.”

“Time Lords...” the name had a ring to it. “So you travel in time? And visit other planets? Visit Earth?”

The Doctor nodded, and gestured around. “And now, this planet. Let’s go!”

He jumped out of the Tardis and into the forest. Harry had no choice but to follow him. At first, he was worried - if the Doctor didn’t know where they were, how could he know where to go? But it didn’t take him long to stop worrying. The forest was beautiful, much more than any he could remember. And soon, they seemed to have found a path in the forest. It was nothing more than a trail, really, not big or deep enough to fit for a vehicle, not even fit for more than two people to walk side by side. For a moment, the Doctor knelt, examining some markings on the trail with a slightly concerned expression, but soon he got up, declared it was “nothing” in reply to Harry’s questioning look, and they continued following it -

\- Into the edge of the forest and overlooking the most beautiful city Harry had ever seen. It truly was an outer-space city: a big cone stretched to the sky, surrounded by shining metal spires; emerald bridges connected the spires, and various parts of the city, which were otherwise separated by lakes. The lakes themselves were fed by a river that could be seen in the distance, flowing from the mountains. And even this far they could still see gardens, small patches of green in between the glass and metal pyramids. If Harry would have been told to imagine a futuristic space-city, his mind would have conjured an image close to the one in front of his eyes.

He turned to the Doctor with excitement and a smile - but the smile died on his lips when he saw the Doctor’s expression. “What is it?” he asked. The Doctor looked worried, apprehensive. He did not look at the city and saw its beauty. It looked like he did not see the city at all.

“Listen,” the Doctor held a hand, signalling Harry to be silent. Harry closed his mouth, and listened. He could hear the birds in the distance. The sound of a waterfall, somewhere near-by. The humming of the wind in the trees. And silence, glorious silence -

“Why is the city so quiet?” he asked the Doctor.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and nodded. He then pointed towards one of the bridges. “Look,” he said quietly. Harry saw now what he didn’t notice before - the big tram on the bridge was standing in place, not moving, not waiting for the lights to change or for people to dismount. It just... stopped. No cars were riding the streets, no lifts were visible going up and down the great pyramids, nowhere at all could they see any sign of people. The bustle of the city could not be heard, so close to such a huge metropolis. “Where are all the people?” he whispered.

“Let’s find out,” the Doctor said and they set out downwards and towards the city.

But they did not manage to enter it. They had climbed down towards the city for about five minutes when the Doctor grabbed Harry and pushed him into a nearby bush. Sensing Harry’s confusion, and probably fearing he was about to speak, the Doctor put his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Don’t say a word,” he hissed in his ear. Harry still did not understand what had alerted the Doctor - there was nothing in sight, no sound to be heard.

But a moment later, he heard it too: it sounded like wheels, wheels on the soft ground beneath them. Wheels accompanied by a mechanical hiss - and then he saw it. At first, it looked ridiculous, like a giant pepper-pot had come to life, wheeling its way down towards the city. A row of pepper-pots, black and copper and gold. But there was something about them, something sinister. As they were moving closer and closer towards their location, Harry couldn’t help but feel a shiver going down his spine. He did not know why, but what they reminded him of was Dementors. They travelled the path as if they owned it, as if nothing could come in their way they could not defeat and destroy in a second.

They did not detect them, whatever they were. Their upper parts swivelled in every direction, aiming their eyepiece towards a new section of the path every few seconds, and for a moment Harry was certain they were bound to be detected. One creature seemed to fix on their location, and its eyepiece froze directly in front of Harry. As he watched the thing in utter silence, the dreadful feeling he had learned to associate with Dementors grew within him. The eyepiece was completely empty, empty like the eyes of a man who had received the Dementor’s kiss, empty as only the eye of a Dementor could possibly be, had those terrible creatures had eyes. But just as the danger came, it was over. The thing looked away and wheeled itself down the path. None of the other aliens had located them, and they soon disappeared, continuing their journey towards the city.

Only when the Doctor had removed his hand from Harry’s mouth did Harry dare to breathe. He looked at the Doctor for a moment. It wasn’t fear in the Doctor’s eyes, not exactly, although he could tell from his body language that the Doctor was, indeed, afraid of these creatures. It was terrible anger and grief that had been reflected from the Doctor’s eyes.

“What were these things?” Harry asked as soon as he found his voice. It took the Doctor a moment to answer. “Daleks,” he said darkly, but didn’t explain.

They left the bushes, but did not resume their walk towards the city. The Doctor stood for a while, looking at the shining spires. “There might not be anyone left to save,” he said eventually.

“Would these Daleks kill everyone?” Harry said, shocked. The Doctor nodded. “But.. why? Surely they want something? Surely they would need people for - “

“Oh, they want something,” the Doctor confirmed. “They want to destroy everything. Everyone who isn’t also a Dalek. Everything that’s different, everything that does not serve them directly they destroy. They don’t appreciate beauty or life. This city is nothing to them but a place to conquer. We should leave.” The Doctor turned back towards the forest.

And Harry thought of someone else who could not appreciate life or love, and who would destroy anything different, and anything that stood in his path. But he also remember how, in the end, he was defeated.

“There could be survivors somewhere,” he said, “in hiding. Or maybe, maybe there are rebel Daleks who - “

The Doctor’s eyes pierced Harry. “They’re not like people, Harry. They’re not Death Eaters. You don’t have Daleks who are here because they’re scared, or that are likely to see reason. Their creator removed all emotions from them, and anything that could make them see what they have done is gone. They are like killing machines, hellbent on destroying everything. There won’t be Daleks who can be persuaded they are wrong.”

He said these last words softly, as if knowing exactly what was going on in Harry’s mind, which memories, still so fresh in his mind, were haunting him. Harry wondered for a moment what exactly the Doctor knew of the magical world, and of him. He’d admitted to lying earlier in the Tardis. He had known some things about wizards, and this last outburst... it sounded like he knew more about Harry than he originally said. But this wasn’t the time, or the place, to confront him. And if he did know of Harry, he would understand Harry’s decision.

“There might be survivors,” he repeated, and really he said, we are not leaving here. Not yet.

“They’re dangerous,” the Doctor warned, but he could see in his eyes that the Doctor wanted to make sure there was no one to save before he abandoned this planet to its destiny.

“I know how to defend myself,” Harry lifted his wand. The Doctor nodded, and gestured, not towards the path, but towards a rocky slope down to their right. In the distance, Harry could see a cave in that direction. It had looked as if the Doctor had an idea where any survivors were likely to hide.

It didn’t take them long to reach the caves. They were closer than they seemed at first. “Different atmosphere,” the Doctor said in reply to Harry’s unspoken question. “Light breaks differently, so things look farther away.” Harry didn’t quite understand what he was talking about, but accepted the explanation.

It took them a couple more minutes to enter the dark cave. But the cave turned out not to be a cave at all, but rather the entrance to a dark, narrow tunnel. It looked natural - at first. And then the Doctor pointed at the smooth entrance, pierced by narrow lines that could have been created by a machine, digging into the mountain rock. “Dalek technology?” Harry asked, but the Doctor shook his head, and pulled out a torch out of his pocket. “C’mon,” he whispered, and started walking into the darkness.

Harry raised his wand. “Lumos,” he murmured, and the tip of the wand lit up. It was a weaker light than Harry came to expect of his wand - flickering once or twice, the wand seemed to struggle to obey Harry’s orders, as if it were someone else’s wand and did not accepted Harry as its master. And then it did light up, but with a weak green light, that made the tunnel look even more alien and frightening than before.

The Doctor seemed to realise something was wrong, and he turned back towards Harry, waving his sonic screwdriver at the wand. “Different planet,” he said at last. “Different compositions. You can use magic here - but it won’t have the same effect. Are you sure you want to continue?”

“Yes,” said Harry defiantly. The Doctor turned back towards the darkness and started walking, the yellow light of the torch showing a couple of steps ahead, strengthened by Harry’s green wand light.

They walked for a while. In the eery green light, Harry had trouble keeping track of the time that had passed. He stopped worrying about that, and instead spent the time looking around him. He could see the Doctor was right, now - the tunnel was smooth and straight, dug in a straight line, directly towards its destination. But there were no lights in it, no directions, no signs of any kind of human use - it was dug to reach whatever it was at the end, and then abandoned. It was not very encouraging. Had the tunnel been used by survivors to escape the Daleks, there would have been more signs of human activity, he thought. He wanted to ask the Doctor about this, but didn’t dare disturb the silence around them. Their footsteps echoed loudly enough as it were. He felt certain that his voice would carry all over the tunnel, and give ample warning to whatever it was that waited for them on the other side.

Eventually, the Doctor stopped and turned off his torch, signalling Harry to do the same without word. “Nox,” Harry whispered to his wand, and the green light died. If he strained his eyes, he could see a light at the other end, and as they moved closer towards it, Harry started hearing voices. To his ears, they sounded human. He could not imagine that creatures such as those Daleks they saw before could produce such voices.

They had reached the end of the tunnel, and stopped to have a good look around. They were right at the entrance of a big hall, that looked nothing like the city’s magnificent buildings outside. Those were space-age structures, glass and metal and shining in the sun. This place looked like a refugee camp, the kind that was shown in one of the Muggle television news broadcast every once in a while. It must have been a theatre once, although why would a theatre be built underground was beyond Harry. He could see the windows, close to the ceiling, barred from the inside but letting a few rays of sunshine in nonetheless. Everywhere there were boxes containing different supplies, stacked one on the other. Wet clothes hung from lines that criss-crossed above, and above those, small blue boxes that seemed more decorative than functional were hanging from the high ceiling. In one corner, big steaming pots were stood on equally big cookers. Harry’s nostrils reported some sort of stew was cooking, or perhaps soup. People were huddled around the pots, their clothes dirty and torn, their hairs messy and long, and a general air of unkemptness accompanied them. Another corner had a stack of old-looking guns, guarded by a creature that looked like half-fish, half-human, wearing a breathing mask full of liquid to its mouth. More fish-like creatures were standing in the middle of the room, deep in discussion with other aliens that from that distance looked to Harry quite human. He sneaked a quick glance at the man beside him, looking so human and yet claiming to be an alien; looks were no indication in this strange new world.

One of the fish-men walked in their direction. Harry involuntarily moved, painfully aware that he was not covered by his invisibility cloak. It was left behind in Grimmauld Place, and Harry couldn’t help but regret it now. He regretted even more his foolish instinct. The fish-man froze in place, and turned its small eyes directly at them. As he withdrew a weapon, the Doctor jumped before Harry, raising his arms. “We’re not Daleks,” he called, “we’re not armed, look, no weapons.” Harry followed the Doctor’s example, raising his heads and moving towards the light, not before he returned his wand to the safety of his pocket.

The fish-man did not seem to relax, but didn’t shoot at them, either. Instead, the bubbles in its mask seemed to come up and down faster, as if it were talking. The Doctor leaned towards Harry. “He’s talking to the radio there,” he whispered. “Calling for backup, I reckon.”

Indeed, it was only a second later when both humans and fish-men left their positions and advanced towards the three. They were all armed with the same old-looking rifles as the fish-man that found them. And, like it, they seemed suspicious of the newcomers. Harry’s eyes fixated on the woman who walked in front of the others, a determined look on her face. She must have been their leader: she was the first to respond to the fish-man’s call, and was walking towards them in an assured step, the rest of her soldiers following her. Her red hair reminded him of Ginny; but the hard desperation in her eyes and expression was nothing like he’d ever seen in his girlfriend’s eyes, not even when she lost her brother to Voldemort. But he couldn’t shake the feeling, and all of a sudden he realised that no, he was wrong. He did see this expression on her face, just the one time. Through half closed eyes, he was carried by Hagrid, pretending to be dead, and she believed it, and that moment there was something dead in her expression.

The woman in front of him seemed to have seen her hope die, but not rise up again to defeat evil.

“Who are you?” she half-said, half-barked at them.

“I’m the Doctor, hello! And this is Harry,” he said.

“Hi,” Harry tried to smile a reassuring smile. The woman did not smile back.

“How did you get in here? Who are you? What do you want?”

The quiet, bubbly noise came from the fish-man’s direction again. The woman was apparently able understand it, because her glance wandered to the tunnel for a second before she fixed it back on Harry and the Doctor. “You came through the tunnel?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“How did you get past our guards?”

“There were no guards,” Harry answered before the Doctor.

“Base to Sentry Three, over.” She spoke into the invisible radio. There was no reply. “Sentry Three, do you read? Over.” Static. “Larry, where the hell are you?” Silence. She turned back to the fish-man. “Secure them,” she said shortly. “We’ll go looking for Larry.”

They didn’t have a choice, not really. Harry could draw his wand, but there were too many people around, one of them was bound to get shot, if not both of them. And as far as he could tell, the Doctor had no weapon, no way to defend himself, other than the sonic screwdriver. “We didn’t do anything,” he shouted towards the woman, hoping to change her mind, but she ignored him, or perhaps didn’t hear him at all - she was already halfway through the old theatre. The fish-man hit his back with the gun, signalling the two of them to get moving. Harry looked at the Doctor, who shrugged. Seemed like they were to be prisoners. But despite that fact, Harry couldn’t be too worried. This time, he was imprisoned because they didn’t know who he was. All in all, it felt much more comforting than being imprisoned for being Harry Potter. Unimportant prisoners had a chance to get away.

After a couple of minutes’ walking, they were pushed unceremoniously into a cell. Whoever designed it did not think of the comfort of the prisoners, that much was certain. There was one bench in the cell, made of stone, big enough for the two of them to sit on in relative comfort, but still a problem for any party bigger than two; the door was comprised of simple bars, open to the corridor. There was nowhere to hide, no room for privacy - and, as Harry noted, no toilets. Great. The morning’s coffee might have felt like a distant memory with everything that had happened to him since, but his bladder didn’t seem to feel the same way.

“Well,” the Doctor finished surveying the cell at the same time as Harry did, “the accommodations don’t seem to have improved since the last time I was here.” He sat on the bench.

“What? You were here before?” Harry looked at him, surprised.

“A long time ago,” the Doctor said darkly, and didn’t explain. His eyes seemed to turn darker, too, with a dangerous glint. Harry sat down next to him in silence. Sometimes, he knew, it was better to wait for the other person to talk.

“This planet’s called Messaline. They were colonists, from - oh, I don’t know. Some other colony.”

“Human?”

“Yeah. And Hath. That’s what the fish people are called. Hath. They were at war.”

“Seem friendly enough to me,” Harry commented, looking at the Hath standing guard at their door.

“It was a long time ago,” the Doctor said.

“What happened?” Harry asked, but the Doctor didn’t answer. He seemed lost in thoughts, his expression drowning in sadness and longing.

“How did the Daleks get here?” he finally asked. Harry, of course, couldn’t reply.

“Who are they? The Daleks?”

“They shouldn’t exist. Not anymore. They were destroyed.”

“Maybe some of them survived,” said Harry, and the Doctor answered, “Maybe,” and his voice was full of pain.

They sat there in silence for a little longer. Eventually, Harry got up, and started pacing up and down the floor. He was lost, in this world of aliens, Daleks and Hath and humans in the future. He didn’t know what to do, what their chances were, what would be the best option to follow. He still had his wand - he could blast his way out of the cell and back to the Tardis, end this adventure, go back home. But something in the way the Doctor stared at the empty space ahead told him this was not going to be their course of action. The Doctor didn’t seem capable of leaving here, not now. And he didn’t seem about to tell Harry his reasons, either. But Harry couldn't complain - not much, anyway. It was on his insistence that they stayed here, and maybe he didn't understand Daleks and Hath and aliens, but if they could help, he still wanted to stay.

As long as they got out of the cell eventually, and in one piece, of course.

Suddenly, the Doctor raised his head. Harry followed his gaze. Through the bars he could see the red-headed woman, talking to the Hath guard. She must have returned from her search mission. The Doctor jumped to the cell door. “Did you find him?” he asked eagerly.

“His body,” she replied. “No mark on it, but he was dead.”

“Daleks,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry.”

“So was I. But how do I know you’re not Dalek spies? All humans in the city have been dead or enslaved for a generation.”

“We’re not Dalek spies. Honestly. We’re here to help.”

She snorted. “Help? There’s no help. Not against them. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “We’re here from another planet.”

“Another planet? There’s no such thing.”

“Oh, yes there is. Why do you think these tunnels were built? They were built by the first colonists who came here from a distant place and - “

“Humans evolved on this planet. You’re making no sense.”

He made a frustrated noise. “The Daleks, then,” he tried, “how did the Daleks get here?”

She was silent for a moment. “You came from where the Daleks came?” she asked eventually, cold anger in her voice. Harry could guess what she was thinking, and so could the Doctor.

“No, not from the same place. But they’ve invaded so many planets... I’ve fought them before. I’ve beaten them before. Please. Let me help you.”

She considered it, but Harry could see on her face she was not convinced by the Doctor’s words. “I don’t believe you,” she finally said.

“Then let me show you.”

She was tempted, it was obvious. Help against the Daleks, someone who had fought them before - her thoughts were written all over her face: could she really afford to doubt him, on the off chance he was telling the truth?

“Alright,” she said. “You will show me. But he stays here. If I’m not back within 3 hours, he’ll be executed.”

The Doctor shot a glance at Harry, reluctant to agree. “It’s okay, Doctor,” Harry assured him. “I’ll be fine. Go and show her the Tardis.” The Doctor still seemed unhappy with this suggestion. “Go!” Harry repeated, and the Doctor nodded and was let out of the cell at gunpoint. Harry watched him leading the red-headed woman towards the tunnel, or led by her, as she had her weapon out and ready to fire at the first sign of treachery.

And now, all Harry could do was wait. That was the worst part. Waiting. He was never good at that. He paced for a while in his cell, then sat on the bench, then paced again. A glance at his watch told him only 10 minutes have passed. This was becoming more and more frustrating.

“You better hope Noble comes back,” the man guarding his cell said, and took a sip from the cup in his hand. Apparently, he noticed Harry’s restlessness, too, and in a way seemed to enjoy it.

“She will,” Harry said. Even if they miss the deadline, the Doctor had a time machine. He could always bring her back just a tad bit earlier.

The guard returned to reading his book. But Harry was still somewhat on edge, and could do with the distraction. It wasn’t every day he had a friendly guard. Or, he had to admit, even if this bloke wasn’t particularly friendly, he didn’t have his mind set on murdering him any time soon. Which was a definite improvement over his past experience.

“Is that coffee?” he asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible. The guard nodded without raising his head. Harry had to think of another topic for the conversation.

“Noble,” he said. “That’s an interesting name.”

“Sorry?”

“Noble, is that her name? Your leader?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s an interesting name.”

“It’s from the mythologies,” the guard said. “You know, because she’s a redhead.” Harry looked at him blankly. “The Noble Pah? Her parents named her after her. Hoping for the Goddess to send the Physician again, if you ask me.”

The Physician... this was starting to sound horribly familiar. “I don’t know the story,” Harry said. “Care to tell me?”

“How can you not know the story?” asked the guard. “Everyone knows it!”

“Not me,” Harry shrugged. “We’re not from this world, remember?”

“So you say,” the guard replied. “I’m not sure I believe you. But what the hell.” He moved a bit, and when he spoke again, he recited an old story he had obviously heard a thousand times, told it in the same voice it was told to him.

“In the beginning, the Goddess had created Messaline, and it was a barren and harsh world. And then she looked around her, and she sighed. And of that first sigh, she meant to create a variety of life on Messaline, to help Man and Hath live in comfort and peace. But something went wrong, and the sigh was captured in the Source, and Man and Hath lived in darkness, and did war.

“And the Goddess saw this, and cried, for she did not want her children to fight. So she sent a guardian angel, the Sainted Physician, and his two companions, the Noble Pah and the Lady. But the Physician was wise - he knew he would never be accepted by the people of Messaline, because they were blind and in darkness. So he created his daughter and sent her to the people of Messaline before him, to be his messenger to the blind. And he gathered around Man and Hath, and the Sigh of the Goddess broke free from the Source on his command, and created this beautiful world. But Man was blind, and did not see the beauty. And as they tried to kill him, his daughter died in his place, for only she could see the unending suffering that would befall this world if the Physician were to be destroyed.

“And the Sainted Physician’s heart was broken, for he had lost his only daughter. And he told Hath and Man that there shall be no more war. And he left, inside a small blue box, with his two companions, and left his Daughter to rise up to her place in Heaven, besides the Goddess. And from that day there has been no more war on Messaline - at least,” he added, and now his voice changed, full of disappointment and despair, “until the Goddess sent the Daleks to destroy us. And some still hope that this is not a punishment, and that the Goddess would save us, and just like then, send the Sainted Physician and his two companions, the Lady and the Noble Pah, to help us fight this evil.”

“And what do you think?” Harry asked. But he never heard what the guard believed, because a whizzing sound, now familiar, was heard all through the old theatre, and the wind blew hard, far from any window or air source, and a small blue box appeared from thin air at the centre of the room.


	3. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 3)

The whole room fell silent at the whizzing noise. The people who were busy at their everyday chores stopped and looked for the source of the sound, locating that spot at the centre of the room where the wind was strongest and the noise loudest. They stared for a long time at the blue box that had just materialised out of nothing in front of their eyes. No one said a word. And then -

And then the door opened, and the Doctor’s cheerful voice preceded him by only a second as he stepped out of the box. “ - And reappears here, see?”

The silence engulfed them. Harry’s cell guard dropped both the cup he was holding and his book. Within seconds the book was soaked with coffee, but the guard didn’t even notice.

By now, the red-headed woman had left the Tardis, too, with trepidation. She stared at the Doctor, looked again at the inside of the Tardis for a while, and then back at the Doctor. And all that time, no one said a word, including the Doctor, who had finally noticed how many people were watching them with their mouths wide open.

Noble signalled a guard. Immediately, the spell was broken. Everyone around them seemed to return to their duties as fast as possible. Harry’s guard had finally noticed his book was completely destroyed and swore loudly, but stopped mid-word, covering his mouth and looking at Harry with a fearful expression. Harry, in turn, had noticed that by now the coffee had reached all the way into his cell and was dyeing his trainers brown and soaking the hem of his slightly-too-long jeans. He jumped away from the puddle, swearing quite loudly himself.

This did the trick of catching Noble’s attention. Wordlessly, she walked towards the cell, took the keys from the guard, and opened the door.

“Thank you,” Harry said, but she didn’t reply. He scanned the room for the Doctor, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

“He’s gone through that tunnel,” Noble said, and Harry started walking in the direction she had pointed out. The tunnel soon became another cave - or, perhaps, another man-made cavity in the stone. It was smaller than the main hall, and felt colder. Like the main hall, it had small, barred-up windows, high above near the ceiling, and rows of boxes covering the distant wall. Unlike the main hall, however, most of this room’s floor was covered with blankets.

“The dormitories?” Harry asked, spotting the Doctor sitting on one of the blankets.

“Looks like it,” the Doctor said thoughtfully.

Harry stared at him for a while, wondering how to share with him what he had learned. “They, eh, um...” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “They sort of remember the last time you were here.”

“Oh. Well, that would explain some things,” the Doctor said in fake cheerfulness.

“It’s sort of... their myth.”

“Their myth,” the Doctor repeated blankly.

“More like religion. I think.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Well,” Harry said, copying the Doctor’s fake cheerfulness, “that’s awkward.” Luckily, they didn’t have to suffer the awkwardness much longer. Noble came through the tunnel, and sat down on one of the blankets in front of the Doctor.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “I don’t really have anywhere more appropriate to bring you to. We used to have an office in the Dome, but that was discovered by the Daleks, so we had to destroy that tunnel.” She watched the Doctor tentatively, as if waiting for a reaction, but Harry wasn’t quite sure whether it was a specific reaction she was looking for, or any reaction at all. Whatever it was, the Doctor didn’t hurry to oblige, but just gave her a meaningless smile and kept on looking around him.

“How should I address you?” she asked after a short silence, with the same carefulness she had treated him so far since their return.

“‘Doctor’. Just ‘Doctor’. That’s fine.”

“Doctor,” she repeated.

“That’s me,” he smiled.

“And I’m Harry,” Harry volunteered. She didn’t as much as acknowledge him. Awkward silence descended again on the three.

“You said,” she started after a while, choosing her words slowly and with great care, “you can help us. With the Daleks. Is that why you’re here? Is that why you’ve come to this place at this time? Why did you show up now?”

“Well, that was sort of a mistake,” the Doctor admitted. “I didn’t really know where I was going. We were just, y’know, travelling.”

“Travelling,” she repeated, her voice as icy as the wind outside. “Typical.”

“Typical?”

She didn’t explain, though. Instead, she got up and said in a crisp, businesslike voice, “What do we need to do?”

“Well, first I’m going to need to know what the Daleks are doing here,” the Doctor said, but she just looked at him blankly. “Look,” he tried, “obviously they’ve invaded this planet for a reason. Minerals? Do they make people work in mines? Are they building something? Do you have anything they might want?”

“We don’t know what the Daleks are doing in the city,” she answered. “The only reason we survived is because our parents were not in the city when the Daleks arrived. Those who were closest to the ancient tunnels escaped here and were saved. The rest...”

“Right...” the Doctor said thoughtfully.

“Well, at least we know they don’t know about the tunnels,” Harry said, trying to be helpful.

“There’s that,” the Doctor agreed thoughtfully. “Listen, Noble - that’s your name, right? Noble? - Can you lead us to the city without being detected?”

She considered this for a moment. “That would depend. How many people would you need?”

“Without knowing even what they’re doing? Three, just in case.”

She seemed unhappy.

“I thought I was supposed to be a minor god or something,” the Doctor complained.

“Godsend,” she corrected him, “and I would have put the safety of my people before your needs and plans even if you were the goddess herself. Don’t misunderstand what’s happening here, Doctor. We just had two good people killed this morning, and that’s not even the first time this week. The Daleks are closing in on us every day. We can no longer fight, so we’re hiding, and soon we won’t be able to hide, either. I’m not going to help you because of an old myth. I’m going to help you because right now we don’t have any other options. Now, if you'd excuse me, I need to ask around and see if there are any volunteers,” she said and left the room back to the tunnel. The Doctor raised his eyebrows at Harry again, almost comically, and followed her. Harry sighed and entered the tunnel as well.

Noble was already gone by the time he stepped out back into the main hall, but the Doctor was standing there, looking serious.

“What is it?” Harry asked, and the Doctor seemed lost for words - but only for a moment.

“Harry, the Daleks are...”

“I know, you told me. Dangerous, murderous creatures who - “

“No,” the Doctor said. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say. This time.”

Harry didn’t say anything, but let the Doctor compose his thoughts for a moment. A feeling came to him, that the Doctor was less looking for the right details, and more for the right way to present them. There were things about these Daleks, things the Doctor didn’t want Harry to know. He was sure of it.

“I’m - “ the Doctor started, then his voice trailed again. “It’s my fault. The Daleks. I have to set this right, I have to help them.”

Harry wanted to ask more, but didn’t dare to say anything, for fear he would discourage the Doctor from revealing more.

“It’s going to be dangerous. Very dangerous. And I know telling you not to wander off isn’t going to be any use. But you don’t need to come with me.”

“I’ve dealt with dangerous things before,” Harry answered. The Doctor could do some amazing things, he couldn’t deny it, and his magic wasn’t as strong here as he was used to, but he had been through quite some dangerous things himself. The Doctor must know that! But the anger subsided as soon as he saw the Doctor’s expression.

“I know, Harry. But this one isn’t your responsibility. You don’t need to risk your life. You should stay in the Tardis.”

Harry knew the last couple of months had probably made him a bit more reckless than he should have been; he knew that despite what he had told Ron and Hermione, he’d always enjoyed the adventures, as long as they didn’t include a threat to his life or to others’; and he knew that his curiosity had the habit of getting the better of him. But most of all, he knew these were not the reasons he had to come with the Doctor.

“If we get rid of the Daleks,” he asked quietly, “would it make their lives better?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, and Harry wondered whether it would also make the Doctor’s life better, atonement for whatever mistake it was he had made with the Daleks in the first place.

“Then it’s worth it,” he said, and the Doctor’s face broke into a smile. Harry smiled back. He knew the question won’t be raised again.

Now, he finally had time to look around them, the first time after the Doctor’s identity had been revealed to these people. It seemed as if everyone was doing their best to be as far away from the Doctor as possible. The first two people who got in their way as they emerged from the tunnel gave him one look, made a noise similar to a frightened mouse, and turned in the other direction. Others stood rooted to their place, staring at them, but turned back to whatever it was they were doing as soon as the Doctor turned his gaze towards them. For several minutes, it remained just the two of them, Harry and the Doctor. Harry was mostly silent, looking around. The Doctor, on the other hand, kept an on-going commentary about everything in sight, from the artificial cave's architecture to the cuisine. Harry felt like he was standing next to a lengthy and overly-detailed guidebook, with its controls stuck on ‘on’ and with no way of turning it off. There seemed to be only one thing the Doctor didn’t know of - the Hath. When Harry pointed one of them out and asked the Doctor who - or what - these aliens were, the Doctor just beamed at him and said happily, “No idea!”.

And between the commentary, all around them people continued scuttling by, going their way and trying their best not to be noticed by the two. All except a short man with dark hair and intelligent eyes who was standing next to a big water basin and washing dishes. He originally caught Harry’s attention because he seemed more careful about his appearance than the rest of the people around them: his hair was shorter and well tended, his clothes were cleaner and with less holes, and his face was smooth, without facial hair. But then he became interesting for a whole different reason: his gaze met Harry’s and he held his eyes steady for a few seconds longer before drawing them away, carefully putting the plate in place and choosing another one.

“He’s not like the others,” Harry commented to the Doctor, whose gaze had also located the small man, and the flow of information finally died out.

“I wonder,” the Doctor said thoughtfully. He didn’t say anything else, because at that moment a young man walked towards them, a mortified expression on his face and two cups smelling of something sweet and hot in his hand. Harry immediately recognised him as the guard from his cell. Once again, the guard didn’t look at him, but this time it was not because of his lack of interest; rather, it seemed he was even more scared of the pair than the rest of the people, possibly because of his earlier behaviour.

“Hi,” Harry said. It didn’t seem the man would be the one to start the conversation.

“Erm. Gwaga?” he stretched his hand, offering the two the cups he was holding.

“Sure,” Harry said and took the cups from him, giving one to the Doctor. The man, relieved, took this opportunity to try to flee as far and as fast as possible, but Harry grabbed his arm before he could do that.

“What’s your name?”

“Polly.”

“Polly?” Harry repeated, doubtful.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, Polly, I’m Harry, that’s the Doctor. Thanks for the - how did you say it’s called?”

“Gwaga.”

“Smells like hot chocolate,” the Doctor commented. If Polly seemed terrified at being in the Doctor’s presence, he was absolutely mortified to be spoken to by him. At this address, he looked as if he was about to faint. Harry, feeling sorry for him, let go of his sleeve. Immediately, Polly disappeared into the crowd.

“That’s gonna work,” Harry said dryly. He was getting more and more frustrated with the way all the people had kept their distance from them. “How are we supposed to get the chance to talk to someone if they keep on being terrified by you?”

“Well, we could go and be friendly!” the Doctor smiled a charming smile and walked towards a short woman, who was talking with Polly a moment ago. She reacted much like Polly did - after one terrified look at him, she turned away and almost ran out of the room into one of the tunnels. Harry smirked.

“What are you smirking at?” the Doctor complained. “You know, most people need me to remind them not to wander off. You’re just standing here!”

“Sounds like you need to pick up better people to travel with. Like Noble, maybe. You probably won’t get the chance to tell her not to wander off, though. You’d go on about these caves and she’ll just continue to do whatever she wants anyway.”

The Doctor didn’t answer. Harry looked at him, ready to make another joke, but the Doctor’s expression stopped him. He didn’t know what he said, but he obviously touched a nerve with the Doctor. He was staring ahead, not really looking at anything, deep in thought.

“Doctor?” Harry said quietly, carefully. The Doctor seemed to shake himself from whatever it was he was thinking of, and faked an unconvincing smile. And Harry was reminded again that he didn’t know a thing about this man. He had evidently seen Harry’s curiosity and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could find some clever retort, Noble returned.

“Alright, I found a couple of people for you. I’m not happy to take more than that. You might be called Godsend, but if you read the old stories carefully enough...” she seemed to be considering her next words very carefully. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Doctor, but you sound more like a god of war to me.” The Doctor’s face went blank, but he didn’t say a word. Encouraged by his silence, or at least assured that no angry outburst would follow, Noble continued. “Manach and Polly volunteered, and I’ll be coming along, too. We’ll also be taking Marvin, he’s our best wizard.”

“Your best what?” Harry spluttered, choking on his hot gwaga.

“Wizard. You know, wand, spells?” she looked at him impatiently. “He’s the only one who managed to get a wand working, anyway. That’s him, over there - ” she pointed the man Harry had noted earlier, the only one who didn’t seem terrified by their very existence. “You can go and ask him all about wizarding stuff, I don’t have the time, there are some last minute things to arrange. Meet you here in five minutes,” she said and disappeared into one of the deeper tunnels again.

Harry looked at the wizard - Marvin - for a second longer, and considered approaching him. Maybe the wizards here managed to figure out how to use magic properly on this planet, he wondered. But deep inside he buried other thoughts, thoughts he knew he was better of not thinking. How much history of the wizarding world had they known? How far away from home was this place, anyway? Could they tell him what happened, in the end, warn him from any more mistakes they were going to make? Finding a wizard here - a future wizard - opened so many possibilities.

 

But he tried to bury the excitement deep inside. He had a feeling the Doctor wouldn’t approve. Instead, he put on the most casual voice he could muster, and asked “Do you think we should go there and talk to him?”

Only after he asked the question, Harry dared turn his eyes away from Marvin back to the Doctor. To his surprise, he saw the Doctor looking at him. Suddenly the Doctor smiled, as if he realised he was caught, and said, “Why not! C’mon then, time to meet the resident wizard!”

The resident wizard, however, didn’t seem too excited about meeting them. The Doctor attacked him and the Hath, Manach, with what Harry now realised was his habitual enthusiasm, shaking hands and making surprised and excited exclamations. Marvin shook their hands only reluctantly. He was obviously interested in the two of them, and kept on sneaking glances at them every once in a while, looking as if he expected them to say something nasty at any moment. But he was either suspicious of them, or didn't want to give too much away. Mostly, he seemed happy to let Manach make most of the conversation while he stood aside and listened.

Harry didn't protest too much at that. As excited as he was about talking to the future wizard, he couldn’t help but be curious about the alien. Manach, who spoke in a quiet, somewhat bubbly voice, seemed to be the only one in the room who didn’t have any feelings about the two of them, one way or the other. It - or, as the Doctor started addressing her almost immediately, she - wasn’t afraid like Polly and so many of the others, wasn’t suspicious like Marvin, and didn’t show a trace of the resentment he could feel in Noble.

“A lot of people seem to be afraid of us,” he commented to her once she finished answering in detail the Doctor’s question about the age of the tunnels.

“I am not,” she agreed, and looked at him with her big eyes.

“Why not?” he couldn’t help but ask, but she only shrugged.

“I am Hath,” she answered simply. From the look on her face, and the complete lack of reaction on Marvin’s part, it seemed obvious she considered this to be an apt reply.

“Right,” he said, unsure, but didn’t get the chance to say anything more, as Noble showed up again at that moment and told them all arrangements have been made. They were ready. Harry’s throat turned dry. Everything happened so fast. Until that moment he didn’t have the chance to fully realise they were going to walk deep into the territory of terrifying, murderous creatures. He could back down, he thought. But that had never been an option. Not if he was honest with himself. At least this time he didn’t have to try and figure out things on his own.

And so, they set out into the dark tunnels.

They walked down the tunnel for almost an hour, without any sign of trouble. It was dark and dusty - it was obvious no one had entered it for years, perhaps centuries. Harry was walking cautiously, trying to be as quiet as he could - after all, they had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side of the tunnel, even if the tunnel itself did not hold any surprises. Next to him, however, the Doctor was walking with a confident step. Not only did he not seem worried about any surprises the tunnel might hold - or an unexpected turn that would leave them in the middle of the enemy’s camp - he also seemed to know the tunnels themselves.

And unlike the others, who, just like Harry, seemed to do their best to remain as unnoticed as possible, the Doctor continued his guidebook introduction to Everything Messaline. Now he was talking about the amazing metaphors used by the people they had met to refer to the tunnels.

“But,” Harry whispered when the Doctor stopped for breath, “they keep on saying ‘tunnels’. Actually,” he frowned, “they all sound as if they’re from Surrey. Even the Hath.”

“Oh, that’s the Tardis,” the Doctor’s full voice sounded ten times as louder in contrast to Harry’s whisper. “It translates for you. They’re actually speaking two different languages, but they seem to be understanding each other just fine. It was the same way when I was here last time.”

“Have you been in these tunnels before, too?” Harry asked, still whispering. His whisper carried unexpectedly in the tunnel, and he couldn’t help but look around, hoping he was not overheard by some unwanted creature.

The Doctor saw his alarmed face and chuckled. “There’s no point in whispering,” he said. “If there’s anything here, it’s probably already heard us.”

“Well?” Harry asked in his regular voice now, not letting the Doctor divert the conversation too far away from his question. “Have you been in these tunnels before?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor answered, but didn’t elaborate. Harry thought of the story he was told earlier by Polly, and of Noble’s words. A god of war, she called him.

“They have a story about you,” he said quietly. The part of him that was curious about the Doctor won over the part of him that sounded suspiciously like Hermione and insisted it would be tactless and insensitive to bring up the Doctor’s past in that way.

“Do they?” the Doctor said in light tones, but Harry suspected his cheerfulness was fake once again.

“Yeah. They say you had a daughter. And you sacrificed her, to stop a war, to make their lives better.”

The Doctor didn’t answer.

“I know you would have died instead of her,” Harry said, not quite sure whether he was trying to comfort the Doctor or not. “If you had a choice.” The Doctor remained silent, and Harry took this as an encouragement to go on. “She call you a god of war, but I don’t think this is true. Not from what I’ve seen, anyway. You look more like - “

But the Doctor never learned what Harry thought about the subject. Ahead of them, someone must have made a wrong step, or else touched the wrong thing, or perhaps it was simply the ancient tunnel that could not hold any longer. Whatever it was, the earth shook, and the ceiling started collapsing, right on top of Noble and Polly.

Harry didn’t have time to think. Instinctively, he pulled out his wand and cried, “Wingarium Laviosa!”, pointing at the rocks. They seemed to freeze in place. “Get out of there!” he shouted, as more rocks started falling. His spell could not hold all of them. Noble was the first to react, pushing the Hath, Manach, out of harm’s way. Polly remained rooted in place, staring at the rock that was suspended in mid-air, inches above his head.

“Polly!” Harry shouted, and another rock fell - right on Polly’s leg. He collapsed with a moan, and both Harry and the Doctor rushed at the same time to his aid. More and more rocks were falling now; Harry had given up on his wand and was shielding his head with his hands. He pulled his wand again when they reached Polly, blasting away the rocks that were already half-covering him, and together with the Doctor dragged him to safety.

“Thanks,” Polly muttered, staring hazily from the Doctor to Harry, who was now trying every healing spell he could remember.

“Episky!” he said in frustration, and the wand gave a feeble light and Polly’s bloodied leg didn’t get any better. Harry swore and turned to the Doctor. “If only I had some potions, they’ve always been better than charms, and besides - “

“And besides, you don’t know too many of those, do you?” the Doctor said, amused. Harry sighed. “Let’s just try to bandage the leg, shall we?” The Doctor started removing a huge number of things - weird, impossibly large things - from his pocket. “Bandages, bandages,” he muttered as he threw away a whistles, some bananas, three pens and a potted plant.

Noble and Marvin now approached him, followed closely by Manach. “How is he?” asked Noble in a worried voice.

“He’ll be alright,” Harry said, hoping he was telling the truth. Polly looked only semi-conscious, and the bleeding from his leg hadn’t stopped. Noble looked at the bleeding leg, biting her lip. It didn’t look good, Harry had to admit.

As he turned his gaze towards Marvin, he realised the wizard was not looking at Polly, but rather at himself, and at the wand he was holding. “What was that spell you used?” he asked, a surprised look on his face. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Hovering charm. Didn’t work too well, though,” Harry said, disappointed, resenting the planet that had stopped him from using magic properly.

“It seemed very strong,” said Marvin, who didn’t realise the spell did not work as planned. “And then when you blasted these rocks... this must be a very powerful wand!”

“It’s alright,” said Harry, slightly confused. “I like it.”

“You must have a lot of wizard blood in you,” Marvin concluded, the unmistaken tone of jealousy in his voice.

“I’m a wizard, yeah,” Harry said, but couldn’t help feeling he was missing something.

Crouching near Polly, the Doctor shot a curious glance at Marvin, then returned to treat the wound with the bandages he had finally managed to extract from his pockets.

“Your entire family must have been wizards for generations!”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “My mum was Muggle-born.”

Marvin seemed almost outraged. “But your magic!” he said indignantly. And then, at a look at Noble, shrugged. “Must be the wand. You must have a really good wand.”

He walked away from them, and sat sulkily next to the shattered stones, inspecting them thoroughly.

“What the hell was that all about?” Harry said, incredulous.

“Oh, just Marvin’s dreams of grandeur,” Noble said in a sensible tone. The longer he knew her, the more Harry was reminded of Professor McGonagall. “Most people got wizard blood these days. But I’m surprised you don’t know this, being a wizard yourself. Having some wizard ancestry isn’t enough, apparently, you see. You need to have a lot of wizard blood in order for it to work. You know how it is. Marvin’s family took care to preserve the magic in their bloodline, I think, as much as it’s possible in a society dominated by Muggles. They always made sure even when they married Muggles, to marry ones with a lot of wizard ancestry, or at least, those who lied and said they had a lot of wizard blood. One of those families that clings to stories of the glorious past,” she rolled her eyes, but in an affectionate way, as if forgiving the eccentricities of naive dreamers. “It makes him happy, even if a lot of it requires ignoring how old stories exaggerated the powers of magic. It’s also good for us, we got out of some pretty tight corners thanks to his magic. I guess we can’t complain - oh,” she interpreted Harry’s expressions correctly - “he dreams of the days there would be more wizards and they could form their own society, like the old stories. But he’s not that bad. I can deal with the snide comments every once in a while.” She chuckled, and got up replaced the Doctor at Polly’s side. The Doctor himself seemed content now that the bleeding had stopped, and got up.

For the longest of time he continued to look at Noble, deep in thought. But after a while, the alien must have sensed Harry’s questions even without looking at his face, for he opened his mouth and spoke softly.

“It’s quite obvious, really,” he said in quiet tones. “You wizards, you never bothered to learn about the Muggle society. Even people like you, who had grown up with Muggles, soon shed the Muggle world behind you and enter fully into wizard society. When humans started travelling to the stars, wizards joined in. They never bothered to learn about the science of space travel, or break down magic and see how it works. It’s always been there for them - why not, then? It was only after the first wizards arrived at different planets that they realised their mistake.”

“They discovered what I just discovered, didn’t they?” Harry said thoughtfully. “Magic doesn’t work that well outside Earth.”

The Doctor nodded. “And all of the ways wizards always had of communicating with each other, all the things they took for granted, turned out to be wrong. They couldn’t even tell the wizards who were left on Earth that something was wrong.

“Now, most of the wizards who have joined Muggle space expeditions were young, straight out of school. As soon as space travel became a fact, the Muggle administrations were looking for young volunteers to populate distant planets, not highly trained astronauts. They joined in for the adventure. Most of the time, they didn’t bother checking if there would be other wizards aboard the ships. Sometimes there were, sometimes there weren’t. But living so closely with Muggles, they wouldn’t necessarily fall for the other magical people - more often than not, wizards and Muggles fell in love with one another.”

“But that doesn’t affect magic,” Harry insisted.

“I know that, and you know that - “

“And they knew that - “

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “They did. But when their children showed signs of magic, it was weaker, largely limited to that they had shown as children, for the same reason the trained wizards' magic was weaker. They tried to teach them how to use it. Some of them even guessed correctly what had happened. But there was no Hogwarts, no magical community. In most planets, most human colonies, only one family had children who were born with magic, and even then, not all children of the family showed signs of it. And the parents, who were not teachers and did not necessarily understand magic well enough, taught their kids the spells they themselves had learned, but expected completely different results, and described them significantly different from what had happened in reality.”

Harry looked at him, realisation dawning at last. “And the kids thought it was because they were half-blood?”

“Half-blood, and then quarter-blood, and then you had a grandparent who had his great-great-grandfather’s wand, no spell books, and not even a basic understanding of the theory behind magic, who told his grandchildren the same tales he had heard from his parents, about the days there were many wizards who lived in a closed wizard society and could do real, exciting magic, and showed them the few spells his parents had shown him. But without the ability to compensate for the alien environment, I daresay they were slightly disappointing.” Harry followed the Doctor’s gaze. Marvin was playing with his wand absent-mindedly, turning a mushroom larger and then smaller again. More than anything, he reminded to Harry of himself, trying to perform magic with a wand whose allegiance he had never won - he could force the wand to perform the spells, but they didn’t come out quite right.

He couldn’t help but pity the man. It wasn’t his fault, really. He heard all of his life that he was special, he must have clung to every bit of proof and cherished it. “You know,” Harry said, still mesmerised by the growing and shrinking mushroom, “I reckon he could have been quite the wizard on Earth.”

“Don’t go on telling him that, though,” the Doctor warned, but only half in jest, “we’ll never hear the end of it.” Harry laughed.

A groan from beneath them had returned the two of them back to reality. Noble was helping Polly on to his feet, and he was standing on one leg, careful to lean on the wall and not on his injured leg.

“How are you doing?” the Doctor was next to Polly in a second. Harry joined him a moment later. Polly seemed more focused now, less in pain. He was chewing on some leaf that was given to him by Noble - she was putting away back to her pocket a batch of the green, big leaves. “I’ll keep these for later,” she said, and then turned to the Doctor. “Something for the pain. Normally I’d be against it, but we need to get going.”

“Can he come with us with this leg?” the Doctor asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” it was Polly who answered. He seemed determined to remain with them - or was it not to disappoint his leader? Harry wasn’t sure. Either way, he was impressed with his will power. It was evident that merely standing had cost him a lot.

The Doctor seemed to consider this for a moment. But it was Harry who interfered - he remembered all too well the determination not to be left behind. “C’mon, Doctor. Let him come with us - he could stay and watch our backs once we get closer to Dalek territory. Make sure there are no surprises once we get back.”

Polly smiled and nodded. The Doctor looked amused, then shrugged. “Alright, then!” he called. “Allons-y!” Marvin and Manach, now realising their short stop was over, got to their feet as well, Manach rushing forward to support Polly, Marvin brooding behind. Soon, however, they had to stop; even with Manach’s support, Polly was finding walking harder and harder.

At a fork in the tunnel, they stopped and located a small cavity in the smooth wall of the cave. It was as if two tunnels have met, and in that place they met they created a small gap that was deep enough to allow Polly to sit, but too small for anything else. Noble and Manach lowered Polly into the cavity gently, while the Doctor rummaged his mysterious pockets for painkillers - “no Aspirin, not ever Aspirin, or your leaf things, something good”. Soon, he was questioning Noble about what allergies Polly might be suffering from or what kinds of food he might be sensitive to, until Polly groaned and Noble barked at the Doctor to just give him the painkillers already.

“It would take it a while to take effect,” the Doctor said, looking at Polly with a worried frown. He was now very pale, and a quick glance at his leg had confirmed Harry’s suspicions: the bandages were already soaked in blood.

“Doctor,” he said quietly, pointing at the leg. The Doctor signalled he had noticed, but didn’t say anything, and Harry assumed he didn’t want to worry the others. He racked his brain, trying to remember a spell or incantation that could stop the bleeding, but the only thing that came to his mind was Muggle stitches. The Doctor, in the meantime, pulled some sort of weird paste in a jar so big that it couldn’t possibly have fitted inside his pockets, and started applying generous amounts of it on the now exposed wound. Polly took one look at his leg and fainted.

“Looks like we’re staying here,” Noble commented. “Marvin, Manach, scan the area, see if there’s anywhere that isn’t the middle of the tunnel we could settle in. I don’t like it here - we’re too exposed.”

“Do you think the Daleks might come this way?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know, and I rather we didn’t find out,” she answered curtly. “We’re getting too close to the city.”

Noble started walking in the same direction Manach disappeared to, undoubtedly to scan the tunnels herself. Harry thought of joining her, when a screaming Marvin ran into him from a different tunnel. Noble turned back in his direction, and Harry himself was about to tell him off, when he caught the meaning of the words Marvin was shouting in his panic.

“Daleks! They’re coming! Run!”

Noble stopped dead, staring at the tunnel ahead. The Doctor straightened up in his place near Polly, pale. The fleeting look he gave Polly and his own expression said it all - they could not run without leaving Polly behind. Marvin had stopped shouting and now stood at the mouth of the tunnel he unwisely chose, fighting for breath and to control his panic, digging out his wand. And in the silence, they could hear a mechanical, heartless voice. _Exterminate_ , Harry thought it said, over and over again. _Exterminate_.

Harry drew out his own wand, unsure what magic could possibly work against these creatures, remembering the cold, mechanical eye. _Exterminate_ , the voice echoed, and he turned to face the tunnel.

And then a bright light washed the tunnel, and everything went dark.


	4. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 4)

He was walking in the forest. Beneath his feet, he could feel leaves rustling, shifting and moving every time he stepped on them. They were soggy, wet from the recent rain. But if he thought that they would lend him their silence, he was wrong. He was surprised the entire forest didn’t hear him.

And yet, it didn’t. He continued walking undisturbed. A part of him wished he was caught, that some creature would notice he was walking there, all alone, and stop him. Maybe kill him now, save him the trouble of getting killed later. But no one noticed. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought the forest was empty.

Empty, until the fire. “No sign of him, my Lord,” someone said, and it was as if someone’s turned on the volume, he could hear all the voices, see all the people, and of course no one could hear him, there were so many of them there and they were making so much noise...

And the scarlet, snake-like slits turned to him, and he was dead. He closed his eyes, waiting for the curse to come, powerless to defend himself. Waited and waited and waited. That was the worst part, the waiting. He wanted him to get it over with already, got almost angry in his despair - what is he waiting for? But still, the curse failed to come. He couldn’t take it anymore - he opened his eyes.

The eyes that were looking at him weren’t scarlet, weren’t snake-like, and didn’t seem to wish him any harm. They were large, and brown, and for a moment Harry thought it was a house-elf, until he blinked and the rest of the Doctor’s face swam into focus. The Doctor looked at him in a curious way for another second, before opening his mouth. “Welcome back,” he said, and if there was anything more he wanted to say, he must have decided against it, for he simply gave Harry his hand and helped him up.

The room was still a blur. Harry touched his face - his glasses were gone.

“You lost your glasses,” the Doctor said, his voice sounding almost cheerful, “somewhere in the tunnel. Hold on - I might just have - “ movement started next to Harry, and he was certain the Doctor was, once again, rummaging his impossibly large pockets - “something for you. Try these on.”

Harry took the glasses from the Doctor’s stretched hand. They weren’t a perfect fit; his vision seemed somewhat blurry in the edges, and the Doctor’s image wasn’t as sharp as he’d expected it to be. But it was better than nothing.

He now had the chance to survey the room they were in. He was sitting on a stone bench; not different, he thought, from the one in the cell in the camp they had left behind. In fact, that entire room felt very much like the same cell - a single room, bars on the door, a corridor behind it. But unlike that cell, they weren’t alone in this one - Marvin was sitting on the floor, staring at the door with the same frustrated expression Harry had given it only a moment ago; Noble was pacing up and down the room, mostly around Manach. Manach herself was standing in place, frozen, her gaze fixed on a random point above the bars. Next to him, Polly was lying on the bench, his eyes closed and his breath steady. Whatever it was the Doctor gave him earlier must have worked its magic: Polly’s cheeks had much more colour in them, and despite being unconscious, he did not seem as if he had fainted. He must have been knocked out by the same thing that had knocked out Harry.

The light - ! He remembered now.

“Where are we?” he asked the Doctor.

“Prisoners,” he said shortly.

“Of the Daleks?”

The Doctor just nodded. Noble, who stopped to listen to the exchange, resumed her pacing.

“What are they going to do?” Harry asked. His voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. It sounded small.

The Doctor looked at him, and his eyes were full of guilt. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Daleks don’t take prisoners, not unless they want something from us.”

“And whatever they want from us - “

“It’s not good.”

“I don’t know about that,” Noble stopped her pacing long enough to comment in a dry voice, “we could always ask them very nicely to let us go. I mean, so far today we’ve had the Godsend’s return and the Daleks avoided killing us and preferred to take us prisoners. Looks like we’re on a roll here.”

Her lips curled to smile that was not completely without mirth. Harry couldn’t help but smirk himself. He moved his hand around to find support and get up, and something hard rubbed at his hand from his pocket. As he sent his hand into it he realised he still had his wand. Well, he wasn’t going to sit there and wait for the Daleks to come and kill them all. He got up, wand in hand, and walked towards the door.

“Harry, no!”

“No!”

The Doctor and Marvin both called at the same time, realising what he was about to do, but a split second too late. His wand was already in front of the door and he was saying “Alohomora!”

The next thing he knew, something was poking his back. A second later, and the poking became a sharp pain. He opened his eyes and realised that he was sprawled next to the bench, that his back must have hit the corner of the bench as he was hurtled towards it by whatever defence mechanism the door had, and that the door itself was still very much locked.

“I tried that already,” Marvin muttered from his place on the floor, and Harry whether Marvin had been thrown there after his own attempt. “It doesn’t work.”

“Ouch,” was all Harry could say in reply, as he tried to figure out which bits were his back and which were the bench.

Marvin just looked at him, his face almost hungry as he moved his gaze from Harry’s face to his wand. “Your spell was very strong,” he commented.

Harry didn’t reply. His back hurt way too much to try and dissuade Marvin of his wand envy. Instead, his gaze met Manach, who was still standing in the same spot, staring at the exact same place in the air.

“Why is she doing that?” he asked groggily.

“She’s a Hath,” Marvin answered impatiently. Harry considered arguing, but decided against it. His back felt like it had been cut in half, and he didn’t want to add the agony of weird alien cultures into the mix. Besides, he now imagined he could hear voices. He stopped groaning for a moment, and tried to listen more carefully. Were these mere noises of whatever machines that happened to be nearby, or was the metallic voice saying something in the same emotionless way the Dalek had spoken before?

Next to him, Noble stopped pacing, and was now listening intently. On the other side, the Doctor also seemed to freeze in place. The voices were getting louder. and now Harry could make out words. You will interrogate the prisoners, said one metallic creature to another. Noble’s face turned hard at the words.

“Noble,” the Doctor said in a low voice. “Let me deal with them.” She just nodded, her face white with fear.

The creature arrived at the door. It stretched an arm - was it an arm? It had the most peculiar shape - towards the side of the door, and after a second, a shimmer that Harry had not noticed until that very moment disappeared. It must have been the door-lock mechanism, Harry realised. The next moment, the door itself opened, and the Dalek glided inside the cell, shutting the door again behind him. “Who is the leader?” it asked, speaking in a slow monotone, its metallic voice pausing at the most unlikely places.

“What do you want?” the Doctor didn’t answer its question, but rather shot one of his own. The Dalek didn’t seem to appreciate this. “Who is the leader?” it asked again, its voice sounding more and more impatient and hysterical. “Identify! Identify! Identify!”

“I am the leader here,” the Doctor said. The Dalek’s eye surveyed him for a moment, shining its blue light at the Doctor’s face. It didn’t seem satisfied with whatever it had deducted.

“You are lying!” it declared. “Who is the leader? Identify!”

“How d’you mean?” the Doctor sounded almost offended. “I’m not lying! I’m the leader! Look, it’s me!”

“You are not the leader!” said the Dalek, pausing after every word. “You are not of this planet! Do not lie!”

“I’m the leader here,” Noble sighed. The Dalek’s eyepiece scanned her immediately. “And frankly, I’m getting a little tired running from you,” she added, her face wearing a defiant look.

But the Dalek was still sceptical. “Your genetic code does not match our records!” it declared shrilly. “You will be scanned! Scanned!”

Dizziness overtook Harry for a second, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was no longer in the cell, but inside the theatre, and he was standing in front of Noble. She was leaning against a bunk bed, her red hair was collected in a heavy plait, with which she was playing absent-mindedly. In front of her, Marvin stood. He had a wand in his hand, a long, old wand, that seemed likely to break at any moment.

“They’re dead,” he said quietly, looking at the wand rather than at Noble. She didn’t look down, or at the wand, but rather at him. She opened her mouth a couple of times, trying to find an reply, her face becoming hard for a second, then full of sorrow, then hard again.

Eventually, she sighed. Her next words were dry and sarcastic, but the sorrow that had appeared on her face for a moment could be heard beneath her brisk voice, accompanied with bitterness. “One of these days you’re going to show up here and tell me everyone lived and all our goals have been achieved. I’ll probably die of a heart attack when that happens, anyway,” she added in resignation. For a moment she looked aside, and when she spoke again the bitterness was gone, and only the brisk acceptance remained. It was obvious she did not think she had the luxury of bitterness or sorrow. “What happened?”

Marvin shrugged. “Daleks. What else?”

“They’re getting closer and closer,” she said, and it was no longer bitterness or sorrow she was struggling to keep out of her voice, but fear. “Soon we won’t be able to go to the forest at all. And then what?”

“We could try magic,” Marvin said, still looking at his wand.

“Four people are dead and you’re still not going to let that rest?” she shouted at him. He didn’t reply, and she took a deep breath. The next moment, her voice came out quieter, but still not calm. The nervous edge did not leave it. “You were with them, anyway,” she said. “It didn’t help them.”

“I’m alive,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. But we don’t have a lot of other wizards, Marvin. What you’re asking for isn’t rational.”

“Why not?” he demanded in frustration.

“Look, you said it yourself. If any of these kids were wizards, they would have shown signs of magic. They didn’t. You’re the last wizard. We don’t have the resources or the time to start all these searches or - what was it? ‘Devise a mating programme’.” She snorted.

Marvin’s face turned scarlet. “I’m only thinking about - “

“I know,” she cut across him. “Marvin, no one’s doubting your enthusiasm. But we’re probably not going to survive here long enough to plan the details of your programme anyway, let along to create a new generation of wizards.”

“We should put it to the council,” he insisted again, his face still red.

Now it was Noble whose face darkened. “I said no!” she shouted.

“You’re only afraid they’d back me up!”

“They would back you up because they’re a bunch of opportunistic idiots, desperate enough to try any plan, no matter how unreasonable it is!”

“Still,” he insisted. “You act as if I’m doing this for myself, Noble, in case you haven’t noticed, they keep on killing more and more of our people and we have nothing to fight them with! I think I will ask to put it on the next agenda.” He turned around and stepped out of the room.

“I’m not done with you - “ she shouted, but he was no longer listening.

Harry swayed again, dizziness overtaking him, and when he blinked he was back in the cell. The Dalek still had its eyepiece directed at Noble.

“This is not satisfactory!” it declared, and moved its eyepiece at Marvin.

This time, Harry was prepared to the dizziness. He blinked it away, and discovered himself in a similar tunnel that had led them into this mess in the first place. It was, in fact, exactly that same tunnel - exactly that same time. Harry could see himself from the side, aiming his wand at the various rocks that had threatened to fall on them all, the rocks frozen in place, obedient to his will.

He had expected this memory, or vision, or whatever it was, to last as long as the one depicting Noble. But within seconds, the spell of dizziness came over him, and all of a sudden he was standing back in the cell, the Dalek’s blue eyepiece positioned directly in front of him. Everything went dark.

He could see snapshots of forest and leaves and ruins. A tent seemed to appear and immediately disappear again. A flash of scarlet eyes met his own, and then he was in a cell again, but not one of the cells of Messaline. A cell he had visited only days ago. This cell didn’t have a big door with bars on it, but rather a small one, made of grey metal. The walls were also grey, as was the only furniture in the room: a desk and two chairs. The only thing that was missing from the room was the chill and sense of despair. Right outside the door, Harry knew, stood a Dementor, hungry for human happiness.

It was a cell in Azkaban, and next to the desk sat a prisoner, awaiting his trial, brought to the interrogation room at Harry’s request.

Draco Malfoy was not wearing the expensive robes Harry had grown used to see him wear. Rather, he was wearing striped prisoner uniform in black-and-white. The sleeves of the shirt were short, to reflect the summer time, despite the fact that none of the warmth of the sun had ever reached Azkaban. On his exposed left arm, the ugly tattoo of the skull and the snake was already fading, but still visible, the same tattoo Harry had argued about with so many people, slightly more a year ago. He didn’t feel any triumph now that he had proof of its existence.

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy asked in defiance. He stared at Harry, dark bags under his eyes. He looked just as tired as Harry felt.

“I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Not trusting your Auror friends to get the whole story?” Malfoy attempted to sneer, but his heart wasn’t in it. His voice seemed to waver mid-sentence and become quiet and exhausted. Harry didn’t need to ask what had brought on the change. Malfoy had spent the best part of the last month in Azkaban, in the company of the Dementors. His trial had not yet started, but the Ministry was not taking any chances - they did not let any wizard or witch who bore the Dark Mark walk free, not even until their verdict was pronounced. Everyone already knew what awaited them, anyway - a lifetime in Azkaban. Many people didn't see any reason to wait.

“I got some questions to ask that don’t interest them,” Harry answered, and sat down in the chair in front of Malfoy. For a moment, Malfoy was taken aback, but immediately returned to his earlier position in the chair, trying to feign indifference. Harry didn’t comment, but kept his eyes directly on Malfoy. “Back in the manor house,” he said. “You recognised us. Ron, Hermione and me. You knew who we were. I know you did.”

“Yes,” Malfoy shrugged.

“But you didn’t tell your aunt.”

Malfoy didn’t answer. Encouraged by his silence, Harry continued. “Just like on the Astronomy tower. You didn’t kill Dumbledore. You wouldn’t.”

The colour seemed to return to Malfoy’s face. Harry, who was used to Malfoy’s pale face, did not realised until now just how pale his face had been. It was like he had no blood left until that very moment, and all of a sudden it all flowed back into his face, all at the same time.

“There’s no need to remind me I’m a coward, Potter,” he spat.

“I don’t think you were being a coward, Malfoy. Your parents were afraid. All they wanted to do was to turn us in and see us murdered by Voldemort.” He ignored Malfoy’s wince. “Then the war would have been over, your side would have won, and pure blood wizards would have been all that mattered. You can’t tell me your were more afraid of me than of Voldemort,” he said, and couldn’t help but feel a bit of pleasure at seeing Malfoy jumping again at the name. “I think you were less of a coward than you think,” he added, trying to be kind.

Malfoy didn’t seem to appreciate the compliment. “If I did tell them, I wouldn’t have been here,” he said bitterly. Harry had nothing to say to that - it was the truth, after all. If Malfoy had not hesitated in identifying him, Voldemort would have been summoned and it would have been him, Harry, rather than Voldemort, who would have died.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Malfoy didn’t respond. Harry got up to leave.

His hand was already on the door handle when Malfoy talked again. “Did you tell him the truth?” he asked. “Was Snape really on your side?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “He’s always been in love with my Muggle-born mother.” And curiosity made him turn to look at Malfoy, and he saw something that looked like despair in the grey eyes. He stepped out of the room.

Dizziness followed him. But the Dalek didn’t seem interested in wizarding wars and trials of Death Eaters. Its eyepiece was already locked onto its next target, and before Harry could prepare himself, he was surrounded by bubbles, pink water, and small fish. There was obviously something going on, as the fish seemed to swim in particular patterns and not others, but Harry just stared at them, not understanding, trying not to think of the meeting he was just forced to relive. Soon, sooner than he realised, the fish were gone, and there was only a second back in the cell before the Dalek turned towards the Doctor, who seemed, until that moment, to try and edge away as far as possible, but was unsuccessful.

Dizziness engulfed Harry again, and they were in a ship - surrounded by Daleks. “Oh,” said a voice, “the end of the universe has come.” Harry turned around to look for the source of the voice, and heard a countdown. But it didn’t go off - a red-headed woman showed up behind the machinery, and turned it off by pressing one button.

“Donna,” said the Doctor in shock, “you can’t even change a plug!”

“D’you wanna bet, Time Boy?” she laughed.

The vision was over almost as soon as it was started. The Dalek didn’t move to Polly next, but kept its eyestalk directed at the Doctor. Its gun and - was that a plunger? - moved around with visible agitation. “You are the Doctor!” it said shrilly to the Doctor, and Harry imagined he could hear a note of panic in its metallic voice. “Alert! Alert! Alert!” And then it was reversing outside of the cell, slamming the door behind it and disappearing from the tunnel as fast as it could.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?!” Polly, who had woken up in the meantime, asked after a second’s silence.

“Whatever it was,” Noble said, apparently recovered from the shock that was evident on her face when the Dalek borrowed into her memories, “we can’t complain. It just bought us some precious time. Of course, with the way that thing reacted towards you, Doctor, I’m guessing we better use this time fairly quickly. Suggestions?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but the door looks like a good idea to me. It forgot putting up the door safeties,” Manach pointed out, with an infuriatingly indifferent voice. Harry went forward and examined the door. She was right - the slight shimmering Harry had noticed didn’t seem to be present anymore. He raised his wand slowly. “Alohomora,” he said, but this time more carefully.

The door opened.

They shuffled out, as quietly as they could, and set out in the opposite direction to the one the Dalek had chosen. The Doctor had whispered it was likely to return at any minute, with back up. “And they wouldn’t stop until they find me,” he added darkly. Noble started to ask something - probably why it was that the Daleks reacted in such a way to the Doctor, and why was he so sure they would come after them. But she thought better of it when a small noise made them all jump. It was only a mouse, so she smiled in relief, but still didn’t pursue the subject. It seemed to be as good a reminder as any that some things could wait until later.

Their prison was not constructed by the Daleks, that much was obvious. With the similar architecture and sensibilities, it must have originally built by the same people who had built Noble’s theatre. Soon, they realised it was also the same complex - it was connected to the same network of tunnels, the very same tunnels they had walked in to get there. They were just as tall, just as dark, and just as full of what looked like old, rusty equipment, a reminder of better days. This time, however, no one was talking. The Doctor maintained his silence, no longer the fountain of information. Like the rest of them, he was eager to get out of there, to get as much distance as possible between him and the Daleks.

It was a slow progress. In addition to the unfamiliar tunnels, Polly’s leg still had not healed completely. Harry wanted to conjure something to help him move faster, but the Doctor shook his head. Apparently, the Daleks had ways of detecting magic, just as they had of blocking it. It was better not to do anything to give away their position. Instead, he walked over to Polly and put Polly’s arm over his shoulder. The Doctor mirrored his actions. It was far from a perfect fit - he was slightly taller, and moved slightly too fast to Polly’s liking - the pain was evident on his face. But it was better than nothing, and allowed them to move at reasonable speed. They continued in silence.

It took several minutes before one of them asked in a whisper whether anyone knew where they were heading. Harry was afraid of that - while the tunnels definitely seemed familiar, none of them looked familiar enough. They all had the same general look on them, one that would have already bored Harry if he had time to think it over and weren’t distracted by the danger. There was no way of knowing whether they were heading back to the base, in the direction of the city, or were just getting lost in the darkness. He wasn’t even sure anymore the city was such a good idea - according to everything he had heard until now, it was full of Daleks. And right now, he was pretty sure the metallic pepper-pots would be more likely to adopt a strategy that included shooting on sight rather than questioning prisoners.

To his surprise, it was the soft, bubbly voice of Manach that responded. “We are in the right direction,” she said. “We can find refuge in the Eastern Zone and decide on our next move. My people have always had the greatest respect for the dwellers of the Eastern Zone.”

“They’re a myth,” Noble said shortly, sounding almost exasperated. “They don’t exist!”

“They exist,” Manach’s voice was still soft and bubbly, but there was a quality of steel to it. “My cousin had been there. She said the people there were of free spirit. She said they welcomed the Hath, even though they had never seen one before. And she shared with me the knowledge of their location.”

“The Eastern Zone...” the Doctor said thoughtfully. “Were they the pacifists?”

“Pacifists?”

“There were pacifists,” the Doctor mused. “When the humans and the Hath were still at war.”

“Yes,” Manach confirmed, although in Harry’s opinion she sounded a bit unsure. “They had remained true to their ideals. They never trusted the other humans, not even after those humans had seen the light. So they never joined them, but maintained their own lifestyle. In the Eastern Zone.”

“But that’s insane!” Noble protested, slightly too loudly, and was immediately shushed by the rest of the group. “Doctor,” she said again, this time in whispers, “you can’t possibly believe this. You’re talking about something that happened thousands of years ago. If there had been a whole secret civilisation out there in the Eastern Tunnels, we would have known about it. The Daleks - “

“The Daleks didn’t know you were hiding in the theatre,” the Doctor said reasonably. “The Pacifists could have done the same thing, all that time, in the Eastern Zone. How many of you stayed in the tunnels after the planet became habitable? How many of you even checked them thoroughly? And anyway, we need to stop the Daleks. If these people really are out there, they could give us the information we need.”

Noble didn’t answer, but still didn’t look happy. Manach took to lead the way.

They all remained silent. None of them seemed to eager to talk, if for fear of Daleks, or of another fight. It was obvious Noble still did not believe the existence of a society of pacifists, and that any discussion might lead to more arguments.

But it wasn't long until the argument was forgotten. Soon, the tunnels widened, creating an opening that was by now familiar to Harry from the previous tunnels. They must have all been built for the same cause, and as the different groups grew more fractioned, and the old schematics were lost, each group was forgotten. Harry believed there could very well be a hidden group of Pacifists in this area of the tunnels. By now, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find a Hogsmeade-sized wizarding community in one of these tunnels.

And yet, he was still unprepared for what had met his eyes. This was not a theatre, nor was it a prison, or a storage area, or any kind of construction he had learned to expect from those ancient people who dug up the tunnels.

This was the entrance to the city. The tunnel gave way to a big railway that continued inside the caves for a few more metres before leaving the rest of the network and leading into the open air. Ahead of them, tall green buildings could be seen, skyscrapers and towers and pointed spires. They were covered in mirrors, reflecting the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. In the centre of these buildings stood a large, cone-shaped construction. It reminded Harry most of all of old rockets he had seen on Muggle television. As they left the tunnels, they could see they were actually exiting a large mountain, that receded more and more into the earth. On the other side, a magnificent waterfall drowned every other sound, and what looked like power lines stretched from it towards the city, drawing from the electricity of the water. The lights sparkled into view, one by one, moving from the waterfall towards the centre of the abandoned city. Green trees sprouted from between the buildings and inside them, some of them grown as high as the tallest spires, some of them peeping out of holes that used to hold those mirror-like windows, some completely replacing the ceilings of lower, weaker buildings.

It was the perfect city, beautiful and magical. All it lacked was people.

They followed the Hath in silence, walking along the railway into the sparkling brightness, entering a city that was empty of humans for centuries.


	5. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 5)

Near a crumbling building that had once resembled a glass pyramid, a stray fox was digging a hole with vigour. A small mound of earth was spread all around it, but it kept on digging, clearly unsatisfied with the results. Suddenly, it froze, sniffing the air. Its ears stood straight. For a moment, nothing moved, and all of a sudden, the fox shot forward, disappearing inside the glass pyramid. The sound of footsteps could now be heard echoing around the abandoned street. The sound of voices soon followed that of the footsteps. The various owners of the voices seemed to be deep in debate, uncaring who might have heard the argument.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” said a passionate voice - the leader of the rebels, Noble’s.

“You always say that!” Marvin complained just as passionately. “If you just stopped and thought rationally of the whole thing - “

“ - I would have reached the same conclusion,” she said, not letting him finish the sentence.

“You’re impossible!” he almost shouted. “They needed to connect all the pieces to search the memory banks, and all that time they used his hidden memories to find the secret weapon. Look, I’ve watched all the available episodes of that thing at least three times, and I’m telling you, if we had the last episodes - “

“There’s still no chance they would have ended up together!”

“You’re impossible! Look, if we...”

Harry smirked at the Doctor. “Good to know at least they’re passionate about something,” he said.

The Doctor smiled back. “That show, I’ll have you know, has kept generations of people entertained, and - “

“Yeah, don’t start,” Harry cut across the Doctor before they found themselves repeating the same argument themselves. “Besides, I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Didn’t you ever take Muggle studies at Hogwarts?” the Doctor half-teased, half-complained.

“No. What for? I grew up with Muggles, I know how their society works!”

“Yeah, but didn’t they teach you anything about Muggle culture?” the Doctor pressed on, and Harry just gave him a weird look. He sighed. “You wizards. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“To be fair,” Harry pointed out, “unless they got a Muggle to teach it, they probably would have got it all wrong.”

The Doctor nodded in agreement, but didn’t continue the discussion. Rather, he looked with excitement around him, as they had arrived at their destination - or at least, at the first part of their destination. It seemed at first as just another unremarkable crumbling building in a city that was full of those, but both Manach and the Doctor fixed on it, Manach drawing the correct path from whatever descriptions she had heard, the Doctor using his sonic screwdriver to determine resonance and other things Harry didn’t quite get and was even less likely to understand. A short scan of the building with the sonic screwdriver had brought up the door, which the Doctor immediately opened. For a while, Harry thought it must have been the wrong door, the wrong building - or even the wrong city. The building was dark, but with the little light they still had he could see it was not for lack of lighting. Rather, the building seemed to miss its floor. Where he expected the floor to be, a huge deep hole had appeared. Above them there was no ceiling, as far as the eye could see.

The Doctor rummaged his coat for a torch. Having found one, he flashed the light of the torch around the building, starting with the floor. The dim light of the torch wasn’t enough to allow them to see how deep the hole was, but it did help them identify a small ladder, going high above them. Harry walked towards the thing and gave it a sceptical shake.

“Do you think it’ll support all of us?” he asked, and the Doctor just shrugged. It seemed that whether it was safe or not, they were going to risk it.

Harry expected them to go down to yet another set of unending tunnels, but was surprised - Manach, who was the first to the ladder, went up rather than down, and was immediately followed by Noble and Marvin, who continued arguing all the way up. Polly then walked towards the ladder.

“You think you can manage?” the Doctor asked him in a concerned voice, and Polly looked down and shrugged. “Do I have a choice?” he asked.

“You could stay here.”

Polly just snorted. “I didn’t volunteer on this mission to stay behind, Doctor,” he said. The Doctor nodded, and Polly, encouraged by this approval, started going up the ladder. The Doctor and Harry followed.

“Doctor,” Polly’s voice was heard after several moments of climbing in the darkness.

“Yeah? Everything’s alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine - I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Those vision things the Daleks extracted...”

The Doctor didn’t say anything. For a few moments, they continued climbing in silence. Harry noticed that at the further end of the ladder, the lively argument about television shows had died down.

“They weren’t visions,” the Doctor said eventually, his voice careful.

“What were they, then?”

“Recent experiences, memories... stuff that’s still in our mind. The Dalek memory scan isn’t very good, you see. It can dig up the most recent memories, but they can’t control for content. Just the most intense emotions, which are usually recent and - “

“ - intense,” Polly completed.

“Yup.”

“Because,” and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue this line of questioning, and now Harry was sure he knew where Polly was going with his questions, “it looked a lot like you were surrounded by Daleks. In your memory. And they recognised you. And feared you.”

He didn’t ask the next question, but he didn’t have to. What kind of a man survives an encounter with a huge Dalek fleet, and has the emotionless army fearing him in the end? Harry had heard the Doctor speak of the Daleks, and was sure he feared them too - but it didn’t make the unspoken question any less relevant. For a race of fearless, merciless killing machines, they sure looked much less impressive when confronted with the Doctor.

“I was interested in another thing,” Marvin called from up the ladder. “I was thinking - oh, no, wait, we’ve reached a new floor, finally!” They crawled up, one by one, into the new floor. The Doctor waved around his torch, revealing the curve of the ceiling, the ragged end of the pyramid-like construction, and a slightly shaky floor that glowed emerald green in the feeble torch light. Harry pulled out his wand, murmured “lumos”, and let the eery green light fall on the rocks.

“I was interested in another thing,” Marvin was now standing next to him. “Your memory, Harry. It looked like there was a whole society of wizards! Where was that - when was that?”

“A long time ago,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want to think of that room. It might have been thousands of years ago from where he was now, but for him there were still decisions to be made about it. “On Earth.”

“D’you mind, back there?” Manach’s voice sounded significantly less bubbly now, and much more impatient. “I think we’re getting closer, there’s a bridge here! Most of the group my cousin had seen were hiding on such bridges.”

Harry caught up with Manach. Before them, a vast network of bridges was spread around, creating a network of pyramids, cones and rectangulars, glowing in emerald when the light of the torch and the wand met with them. They had climbed for hours it seemed, or else the sun had set faster than on Earth - apart from the occasional green sparkle, they were in complete darkness. Even as he raised his wand up to the air, he could not see the full range of the bridges. And like the bridge right in front of them, each bridge was connected to a building, a top floor, a hiding place. It could be a city by itself, a thousand cities. A thousand abandoned cities: there was no light from any of the bridges, no sign of life in any of the buildings.

“Got any idea where they are, exactly?” he asked.

Manach shuffled awkwardly next to him. “My cousin said... they sort of found them.” Yes, Harry reflected, her voice sounded distinctly less bubbly now.

“Ah,” he said out loud.

They soon decided not to start looking for their possible allies in the dark. When they did speak of it, they had only said they didn’t know where they might be. No one said out loud what Harry knew everyone must be thinking: they might not be there anymore at all. They became even easier to persuade as soon as they tested the bridge. It was still strong enough and balanced enough to hold them all, it seemed, but even after a few seconds at that height, the all found the cold wind to be freezing. It seemed to do its best to throw them off the bridge and into the silent city below whenever they dared leaving the cover of the top floor.

And inside the building, the Doctor had found something to make a fire from, and was now pulling a huge bag of marshmallows from one of his pocket. It wasn’t much, but Harry hadn’t had anything to eat since the morning’s toast, so even fried marshmallows felt like a luxury. They all cuddled in front of the fire, with Manach’s temper returning to its normal enigmatic calmness, Noble more relaxed, and even Marvin couldn’t find a reason to sulk. Only Polly seemed worse - the long climb and lack of food were showing their signs in him, despite his best attempts to hide the renewed pain in the leg. The Doctor gave him another pill, and Harry was hoping it would do the job. And then the Doctor suggested they play a game, and somehow they all ended up participating, despite the initial lukewarm response.

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘D’,” Marvin announced to the group.

“Door!”

“Dust!”

“Disgusting shade of grey,” Manach contributed. Marvin dismissed all of their suggestions happily.

“Dancing snakes?” came Polly’s suggestion, which earned him a terrified squeak from Marvin, a hearty laughter by Noble, and a friendly smack from Manach.

“Doctor! Does the Doctor count?”

“Wood, but backwards!”

“No, _wand_ backwards!”

“Bridge with a silent ‘D’?”

Harry looked around, trying to spot something, but couldn’t see anything outside the immediate circle of the flame. “Darkness,” he muttered, and Marvin threw a marshmallow at him, to signal his successful guess.

“Darkness? Really?” Polly sounded sceptical, and eyed Harry’s newly acquired marshmallow.

“Oh, just take one for yourself,” Manach snapped and gave him the bag. Polly started chewing while Harry thought of a new object.

The game didn’t last too long, though. The darkness engulfed them, their stomachs were mostly empty, and with all the running they had done that day, they were all very tired. It didn’t take long for Manach and Noble to retire from the group game and start discussing how they would set out as soon as the sun was up the next morning, to investigate the bridges and try to locate the Pacifists. Harry found it encouraging that they did their planning in a relaxed, cheerful way.

He threw a glance at the Doctor, who was sitting at the other side of the fire, and saw that he, too, seemed more cheerful. The dark look that had haunted his face since the morning, and even more so, since they had seen his memory of the Daleks and the red-headed woman, seemed to have dissipated. His enthusiasm was contagious, as Harry had already learned before. And even Harry was becoming more and more relaxed and drowsy in front of the fire. He almost didn’t notice the Doctor when he stepped across the fire towards him and offered him his coat. Harry took it gratefully - he had left Grimmauld Place dressed in nothing but his t-shirt, not expecting his day to become a mad adventure on an alien planet. He was content now to sit wrapped in the Doctor’s coat in front of the fire, and spent his time watching the rest in silence.

Around him, the Doctor was now deep in discussion with Manach and Noble about an extremely ferocious species of space cats. Marvin and Polly were messing around with the fire, and to the best of Harry’s understanding were trying to melt enough marshmallows to create a sickeningly sweet drink, Marvin insisting on using his wand to singe the pink candy while Polly, showing his slightly higher tendency for sensibility, tried to put the marshmallows in the fire. Warm, less hungry and slightly more content, Harry’s gaze drifted towards the yellow flames.

He wondered for a while why Professor Trelawney had never tried telling the future with fire. Staring into the flames like that, he could easily make up shapes, much easier than any tea leaves or crystal balls. The shape in front of him had a distinct look of a skull and a snake. He shuddered. That wasn’t the future, though, that was the past. His mind wondered again into the lonely cell in Azkaban, where a blond teenaged boy was sitting, waiting to hear a verdict so obvious even Buckbeak the Hippogriff could predict. Harry imagined he could see him sitting there, in his cell. But for some reason, Malfoy’s hair didn’t seem so yellow anymore, but rather red. It was a woman, of course, a mysterious woman who laughed at the face of danger and opened her mouth to say “Exterminate!”. He followed her, trying to ask her why she was laughing so madly, with such a high voice, but she entered the forest and disappeared from view. All he could see was Voldemort, who put down his turban to come back to life and looked at him with his scarlet eyes and sneered, “The boy who lived”. But he used Neville’s blood instead of Harry’s to come back and at any rate the Elder wand was in Harry’s hands and it couldn’t help him against Voldemort and Dumbledore was wrong, so wrong, and the jet of green light hit Harry and he was burning, burning -

\- He jumped into wakefulness. His foot moved while he was sleeping, and his toe was now touching a glowing ember, all that was left from the fire. An angry red boil appeared where the ember had touched his toe, and he withdrew his foot quickly back into the warmth of the coat. The room was peaceful around him: Polly was snoring quietly and steadily to his right; Marvin was also deep in sleep, clutching his old, fragile wand to the point of breaking. Noble was curled up in sleep in front of him, making no noise, or at least no noise he could hear above Polly’s snores and Manach’s soft bubbly sound. Only the Doctor was awake. He was surrounded by wires and other bits and pieces, apparently deep in the process of making - something. But his big brown eyes were looking directly at Harry, boring into him. Uncomfortable, Harry turned over his side and went back to a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, it was still dark. For a moment, he didn’t realise what made him wake up, and then he registered the cacophony. Chirping, calling, singing, screeching and any other noise he had ever heard a bird make - and some he would never had guessed - seemed to engulf him from all sides.

He sat up, his hands looking around for his glasses. Before he could find them, however, he heard the Doctor’s voice. “Careful,” he said quietly, “you might scare them away.”

Slowly, Harry put the glasses to his face. To his surprise, there were only three birds in the room - three magnificent, gigantic birds, each one of them covered with huge colourful feathers. They were glowing in the dark as they pecked around the remains of the fire. Harry couldn’t tell whether the birds themselves were glowing, or whether it was just their unique colours, but whatever caused the effect, he had never seen anything like it. They seemed almost magical. He did his best not to move - one of the birds drew closer and closer to him, and he was afraid of scaring it away. It must have sensed something - instead of digging up the ashes, it suddenly straightened up and looked straight at him. Harry hardly dared breathing and just sat there, stiff as a stone. The bird’s emerald green eyes were fixed on him as it made a tiny jump forward and blinked.

And then the magic was broken. Daylight broke, just as fast as it died the night before, in an explosion of light. The birds finally realised not all of the residents of the room were sleeping, and shuffled quickly through the open doorway, jumping around the bridge towards the next building.

Noble was stirring up now, too, woken by the noise, the light, or both. “You missed the Morning Birds!” the Doctor announced happily, but Noble either didn’t register his words or, as Harry thought to himself was much more likely, didn’t care. Instead, she muttered something and yawned. Polly was also stirring - rest had done him good. He seemed much stronger now, and even managed to stand on his injured leg without swaying. He did need help getting up, though, and got it mainly by grabbing hold to Manach, who was standing next to him, as she had done during the night. She must have been standing in her sleep - her eyes focused as Polly leaned on her and she moved her head in surprise, clearly unaware he was there before.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. She shrugged, and Harry laughed. He was getting better at reading her expressions. He wasn’t sure whether he was getting used to a humanoid with a face resembling that of a fish, or whether it was because he was slowly coming to terms with the magical explanation - she’s a Hath.

Or, he reflected, it was possibly due to the fact that with their constant delays, doubts and detours, she had simply become much more impatient than she was in the first part of their journey.

Only Marvin wasn’t awake yet. No one seemed to notice. They went on their morning routine - which was comprised mainly of yawning and stretching and looking around, while Marvin remained curled up around the ashes from yesterday’s fire. “He likes to sleep late,” Polly laughed in response to Harry’s expression.

“How can he sleep through all that noise?” the morning chorus didn’t end with the explosion of light - if anything, it got louder. Harry could hardly believe it was quiet when they arrived at the city the day before.

“He’s used to it. He sleeps closest to the Hath, after all.”

Harry shot a doubtful glance at the big fish-like alien. She was walking around in complete silence, spreading the ashes from their fire to make it look as if they’d never been there.

“Oh,” Polly followed his glance. “It’s different when they’re in a group.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harry said.

Eventually they had to wake Marvin up. The sun was already high in the sky, Manach was satisfied that no Dalek could guess a group of humans and humanoid aliens had spent the night there, even if they did find the building, and a quick search in the Doctor pockets had brought no more surprise food other than the marshmallows they ate the night before, a revelation that had left them all slightly less happy and slightly more grumpy. At last, they had no more reasons for staying. Noble took upon herself what turned out to be the rather difficult task of waking Marvin up, and he, with an accompanying soundtrack of complaints and unhappy mutterings, was prepared to leave ten minutes later.

Manach and the Doctor led them through the opening in the building into the network of bridges. Manach thought she might be able to recognise any landmarks if she ever actually saw them, and the Doctor scanned the area around them with the gadget he had built during the night, that was supposed to be able to direct them towards human life forms. The rest of the group, although sceptical, followed. With no concrete information of the whereabout of the Eastern Zone Pacifists, they had little choice but to wander around randomly. Even their name didn’t turn out to be a good enough indication: when Harry asked why they were going west rather than east, he discovered the name was given to the group long before the city had even been built.

However, the Doctor’s device gave him an idea. He pulled up his wand, did the complicated movement he had seen Hermione doing in the past, and said “homenum revelio” quietly. Nothing seemed to happen, with the exception of Marvin’s mood: he seemed to cheer up considerably and looked up at Harry with interest.

“What was that spell?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, it was supposed to tell me if there’s someone around, but I’ve never tried it before,” Harry admitted. “They might be far away, or maybe I’ve done it wrong.”

“Oh,” Marvin seemed slightly disappointed, but cheered up again as a new thought occurred to him. “How did you do that thing last night? With your wand?”

“What thing?”

“That light thing. Like a torch?”

“Oh! You just hold out your wand, like this - “ he demonstrated with his own wand, “and say ‘lumos’.” In response to the word, a faint green light came out of the tip of Harry’s wand, hardly noticeable in the sunlight.

Marvin took out his own wand and held it awkwardly. “Lumos,” he said, but nothing happened.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Harry said after observing him shortly, and tried to fix Marvin’s grasp of the wand. “There, try it now.”

“Lumos,” Marvin repeated. The tip of the wand flickered, and a spot of yellow light showed up at the end of his wand. “Hey!” he said excitedly. “My wand has a yellow light!” He gave Harry a grateful smile, and they continued walking, slightly faster as to catch up with the rest of the group.

“You need to teach me more spells,” Marvin said once they’ve caught up with the rest.

“First thing’s first, let’s get rid of the Daleks,” Harry said, but deep inside, even before Marvin’s request, he was already thinking of what spells he should go through, what would be easiest for Marvin to learn, and even feeling some regret that his spell books were not with him on this planet. For his part, Marvin just beamed at him. The Daleks were all but forgotten; the prospect of learning new and exciting magic had obviously filled up his mind with possibilities. For the next several hours, he kept on asking Harry what things could he do with magic, what kind of spells did he know; he was excited with the prospect of the mind-reading legilimency; curious about the Imperius curse, which Harry mentioned in one of his stories; and almost offended with the idea that Harry couldn’t simply conjure up food from thin air. “One of the exceptions to Gump’s Law of elemental transfiguration, mate,” Harry shrugged. “Can’t be helped. Believe me, we’ve tried.”

Marvin didn’t seem happy with this answer, and Harry used his momentary silence to progress further and catch up with the Doctor.

“How are we doing?” he asked.

“Oh, there you are,” the Doctor said with a smile and a wink in his eye, that reminded Harry most of Dumbledore, in one of his funny moods, enjoying a joke only he knew, but was nevertheless extremely funny. “I thought Marvin might insist you give him seven years’ worth of magical education in one morning.”

“Yeah, he was trying to. But he seems a bit angry I can’t conjure up food from nothing.”

“It would have been helpful, wouldn’t it,” the Doctor commented wisely. Harry just snorted. “Are we getting any closer?” he asked, and the Doctor’s smile became less happy.

“Not really,” he shook the device. “Either this thing doesn’t work - “

“ - Or they’re not here,” Harry completed the sentence. “What are the chances it doesn’t work?”

“Low,” said the Doctor in such a matter-of-fact way that Harry wondered for a second about the alien’s ego.

“So we’re back to the beginning? What were we going to do, anyway?”

“Well,” the Doctor said thoughtfully, “the Daleks must be getting their power from somewhere, and with these waterfalls and power lines, I’m guessing somewhere is the centre of the city - which, incidentally, is where we’re going. If I can connect to their power, I should be able to figure out what they’re doing here.”

“All by yourself?”

“I usually do,” the Doctor sniffed.

“I don’t know, in that memory yesterday, that red-headed woman seemed to be doing quite a lot of the work,” Harry said with a smile. The Doctor, however, didn’t smile. His expression froze for a moment then turned stony, his eyes darkened, and he looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry,” Harry said hastily, “I didn’t mean to - I mean, I didn’t realise...”

The Doctor said nothing.

“Who was she?” Harry asked quietly.

“A friend of mine,” the Doctor said shortly. It was obvious to Harry he didn’t want to talk about it, but Harry couldn’t quite let it go.

“What happened to her?” he asked quietly. The Doctor didn’t answer, but neither did he tell Harry to mind his own business. “I think,” he said slowly, “it helps to talk about these things. I don’t know how I would have gone through the last couple of years if I couldn’t talk to my friends about it.”

“You’re still having nightmares, though,” the Doctor said quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. There was no point denying, after all. The Doctor had seen him waking up twice now, and Harry had suspected he’d been watching him for a while before. “But I think I’m doing okay when I’m awake.”

He wasn’t being completely honest, of course. But he suspected the Doctor had known about that, too, because he smiled a little smile, but didn’t say a word. If he was convinced by his argument, Harry had no way of knowing, as at that very moment a group of people showed up all around them. Rather than find the Eastern Zone Pacifists, the Pacifists had found them, and the first thing Harry noticed about them was that they were no longer Pacifists. Harry didn’t know much more about guns in his own century and planet that what he had seen on television, and was completely ignorant about this futuristic society, but the basic shape of a gun, he had noted, had remained unmistakably similar all of that time. Likewise similar were their dark clothes and face masks. Small attack forces, he reflected in irony, seem to always watch the same television shows. His next thought was to to send his hand to his wand, but he was afraid of the reaction these people might have to sudden movement. The rest of the group had frozen in place as well - all, except for the Doctor. He groaned inwardly as the Doctor pranced around, excited.

“Hello!” he said with his bright, mad smile. “I’m the Doctor! We were just wondering - that is, my friends and I - “ he gestured towards Noble and her people, despite their own expressions that suggested they would have liked to have no knowledge of this madman and definitely shared no responsibility to his actions - “if you would be so kind as to tell us where the power source is.”

“What d’you want with power sources?” grunted one of the masked people.

“Well, the plan was to use them to cut up the Daleks’ power and see what they’re up to - but, of course, if you have better ideas, we’re open to suggestions!” he answered brightly and then sniffed. “Without the guns, of course.”

Harry didn’t quite believe what happened next, but the Doctor simply grabbed the gun from the nearest man and threw it down into the city below. The rest of the people surrounding them seemed too shocked to move.

“Fool!” the man shouted.

“Yeah, people say that, more often than not,” the Doctor reflected. “I wonder why,” he mused. Harry couldn’t help but give a small appreciative laughter. He was terrified they would all be shot any second, of course, but still he could not help but enjoy the Doctor’s style.

“I thought you were supposed to be Pacifists,” the Doctor added dryly as the disarmed man stared at him for a moment longer, than went to the edge of the bridge, to see if his weapon could still be salvaged.

“You been looking for us, eh?” said the surprisingly disarmed and extremely annoyed man. “What d’ya do that for, anyway? S’not like I was gonna shoot you!”

“You were pointing that gun at me,” the Doctor pointed out.

“Well, that’s just ‘cause we don’t know who you are, see? We don’t like to shoot ‘em that’s not Daleks,” he spat that last word. “Or work for Daleks,” he added darkly.

“We’re not working for the Daleks,” Noble burst out, jumping next to the Doctor. “We’re here trying to destroy them!”

“Oh, yeah? Well those’s your words, how’re we s’posed to know s’not all lies?”

“Yeah,” added one of the people behind them, “a Dalek spy would say that, won’t she?”

Noble ignored him. Instead, she just glared at the disarmed man, until he dropped his gaze. She did not appreciate being called a Dalek spy, that much was obvious.

“I say we shoot ‘em,” said the man who called her a spy, and Harry hated the note of enthusiasm in his voice. “Can’t take that risk, see.”

“Eh,” was the reply he got, and no one was quite sure what it meant.

“I don’t think killing us would be the best idea,” the Doctor piped in, but one of the men who still had guns aimed it directly at him and told him to ‘shut it’, so the Doctor did, rather sheepishly. He was staring intently not at the armed men, but at the disarmed one, who seemed to be their leader. His fellows, however, did not look too happy with his resolute “eh”. Harry dared hoping it meant, in some way, ‘no’,

“We’ll take ‘em to the base,” the leader decided in the end. “See what to do with ‘em then. We don’t shoot no one who’s not a Dalek. You know that.”

“Or Dalek spies,” whispered the trigger-happy man from behind him in barely-concealed resentment, but he didn’t disobey the order.

They were led through the network of bridges at gunpoint, at the same north-west direction as they walked before. The Doctor didn’t seem to mind that bit, as he walked in the front together with the man he disarmed, and pestered him with questions. Much like Marvin earlier, Harry reflected, and wondered for a second whether that was where he got the idea from.

“So, are you the Eastern Zone Pacifists?” he asked.

“‘Course we are, who else could we be, eh? No humans down here for years, not since those Daleks took over,” the man muttered in response.

“Well, it’s just that you’re not exactly Pacifists, are you?”

“What does that mean, eh? What d’you mean by that?”

“Well... you’re carrying guns...”

“I’m not, not anymore anyway,” he narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. “Anyway, what if we are? What do guns have to do with Pacifism?”

The Doctor was genuinely baffled at that remark, and had given their captor a rare moment of silence. “Er, everything?” he ventured at last. “Pacifists don’t usually like guns.”

“Why not?” his captor demanded.

“Because - because then they’re not pacifists! What do _you_ mean when you call yourselves pacifists?!”

The man thought this over for a moment. “We don’t like Daleks,” he said at last. “I s’pose that counts?”

“No!”

“And we come from Eastern Zone. That’s where pacifists come from, innit?”

The Doctor stared at him in indignant disbelief. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re the Eastern Zone Pacifists who live in the western parts of the city and aren’t actually against war and guns?”

Harry started laughing behind them.

“Well... yeah.” This time, the Doctor and Noble joined in with Harry’s laughter. Their captor smiled reluctantly. “I guess that’s a bit silly there, innit.”

“Just a tad bit, yeah,” the Doctor agreed.

“There’s myths for you,” Noble said, and shot a look at the Doctor. “Never what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ah, but where would be the joy of surprise if you knew everything and all the stories were true?” he asked, but winked at her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“So, who exactly are we going to meet at your base?” she asked.

“People,” he said and shrugged. “Others... see what to do with you, see. Can’t let you wander round. Might be Dalek spies.”

“And how could you tell we’re telling the truth?”

“Wizard can tell us, I reckon. He usually can.”

Noble, Manach and Polly groaned at the same time; Marvin stared at their captors in surprise and excitement; Harry felt like laughing all over again; and the Doctor rushed forward with an air of mad delight, and announced happily they were off to see the wizard.

To himself, Harry started to wonder whether there was some physical or magical law that explained his tendency to find himself in unlikely adventures.


	6. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 6)

“Those Daleks are getting restless.”

It wasn’t quite clear whether they were prisoners and the people in black and masks and guns were their captors, or whether they were being escorted like honoured guests through the network of bridges and into the secret base. Their Pacifists had long given up pretence of herding them: their heart wasn’t into it, and in any case, it was obviously unlikely their prisoners could take them seriously after they had failed to punish the Doctor for disarming one of them. Their weapons, in short, were not deemed a great threat.

They didn’t mind, of course. They were being led to the very place they wanted to go, and by people who knew the way and knew the dangers. They weren’t going to start arguing about their position. And in a way, they all took their cue from the Doctor: the Time Lord didn’t seem to mind at all that he was a prisoner. In fact, he didn’t seem to have even registered that piece of information. He had a knack of acting as if he owned the place, had a basic right to be wherever he wanted to and go wherever he wanted to, and that anyway, he was doing them all a favour by allowing them to accompany him and show him the way. Unsurprisingly, the rest of them followed suit. After all, they were following the lead of the Godsend - Harry, of course, followed the lead of someone much older, wiser, and with more experience than he had, but he was alien to this planet either way. Their captors, faced with such a confusing reality, decided to go with it rather than argue.

Even when they stopped the small group unexpectedly, they acted more as guides than captors. One of them grabbed the Doctor’s coat, put a finger to his lip, and pointed downwards. The Doctor looked and nodded - there was a patrol of Daleks directly below them, must have been twenty in number, all zooming on the ground in all directions. The instructions came whispered throughout the column of people: walk quietly, walk swiftly, aim for the large pyramid ahead. They couldn’t have been more than a mile away from it, but that mile would have to be crossed with the utmost carefulness and silence. Even the Doctor stopped prancing around in excitement and started paying more attention, looking downwards every few seconds. The Daleks continued prowling the ground undisturbed. When they eventually reached the pyramid, the whole group gave a collective sigh of relief.

The top floor inside of the pyramid looked very much the same as their refuge from the last night - the long ladder leading to the base of the magnificent construction; the darkness; the air around them that managed to be both dusty and damp; and the open doorway, here on both directions, connecting the pyramid to the network of bridges.

“Those Daleks getting restless,” said the leader of the Pacifist group, who now, when he had took off his mask and became less nervous, turned out to be a friendly person by the name of Dale. He wiped his brow from sweat, and looked down through next to the ladder. “Don’t come in here, though. Don’t think anyone can be here. But there sure is more of ‘em than I ever seen, eh?”

“Yeah...” the Doctor said, a bit uncomfortable. “That’s probably because of us. They captured us earlier.”

Dale gave him a long, hard stare. “There ain’t many people who meet Daleks and talk about it, Doctor.”

“That’s not all of it,” the Doctor mumbled, becoming more and more fidgety by the minute. Dale didn’t say a word, but kept on watching the Doctor, waiting for him to complete his sentence. The Doctor sighed. “They won’t stop, not now they know I’m here. I’ve sort of... run into them before.”

Dale remained silent for a long while. Eventually he sighed, and starting pulling out his gloves. “Guess our lives just turned harder,” he said.

“Are we still going to make it to the base?” Manach asked anxiously.

“‘Course we are,” he answered. “As long as those Daleks don’t know where we are, we’re alright. Just - don’t give ‘em any sign you’re here, or it would become difficult.”

It became difficult as soon as they left the pyramids and went back to the bridge network. Some of the buildings they passed through now had Daleks at the bottom. The ground outside was swarming with them, and after another half hour of walking, Harry caught the Doctor’s arm and pointed - behind them, at the very top of the first building, a Dalek eyepiece could be seen above the emerald handrail of the bridge. The Doctor in turn caught Dale’s attention and pointed in that direction. Wordlessly, Dale nodded, and they all started moving even faster.

After what looked like forever, they had reached their destination. Once they entered the big cone, they didn’t continue to the next bridge, but started climbing down. Luckily, this was one area without Daleks at all. At the floor of the cone, Harry understood why: there was no way into the building that was not through the bridges. There were no tunnels, like the building they had entered through, nor any doorways on the ground level. Then Dale gave the order to shut the bridge network, and they were inside a huge building, sealed from the dangers of the outside.

Noble and her people lived in a refugee camp, a temporary sanctuary from their enemies, and Harry expected a similar camp here. He was wrong - it was a fully equipped base, bustling and alive. Each section was separated from the other by doors with automatic locks, made of shining steel. There was no washing hanging in to dry in the common areas , no big pots of gwaga or coffee - in fact, Harry couldn’t identify common areas at all, just corridors leading to specialised rooms. And when they arrived at the room and met the man who was referred to as “the wizard”, it wasn’t a room full of bunks, used because it was empty at that time of day; it was a well tended to, occupied office, where the wizard sat behind a huge desk and read through large magic books. He was old - very old. His face was full of wrinkles, and his hair was spread in long grey curls around his head, under a midnight-black wizard hat. He also wore wizard robes of emerald green, almost the same colour as the bridges, high above them. His dark eyes almost shone when they entered.

“Ah,” he said once Dale escorted the group inside and closed the door behind them, “Dale sent word. You those people who are not at all Dalek spies?” he asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

Marvin and Noble started protesting, but soon stopped, noticing the wink and the twinkle in the wizard’s eye. It was obvious that whatever had been in the message from Dale, this wizard did not think they were spies.

“Dale says one of you makes those Daleks scared,” he said again. If the Doctor noticed how Dale - or perhaps the wizard, who had so far avoided introducing himself - made the correct conclusion based more on what the Doctor didn’t say than what he said, he didn’t comment. He just stepped forward and raised his hand. “That would be me,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” the wizard said, sounding somewhat impressed. He got up from his seat, walked around the desk and stared at the Doctor for a second. He then turned his gaze quickly at Harry, but when he spoke, the looked at Manach. “You look familiar,” he told her, “but we never met, eh?”

“I think you met my cousin,” she said, and her voice sounded slightly nervous. Harry was starting to develop the nagging suspicion she didn’t volunteer for the mission to help the Doctor at all. “She was here some years ago, Fanach.”

“Ah, yes. She wore much more leather,” the wizard commented, again with a wink. Manach looked slightly confused. It was obvious she wasn’t sure whether this friendly behaviour meant the wizard was joking with her, or perhaps the joke was on her. Harry didn’t blame her - the wizard did his best to make them as uncomfortable as possible, it seemed.

“She was... younger,” Manach mumbled.

“Of course,” he agreed and smiled. “So, what do two Muggles, two wizards, one Hath and - what are you?” he looked at the Doctor again.

“Time Lord.”

“ - Time Lord. What d’you want with us, then? Us Eastern Zone Pacifists left those troubles you been having long ago. We weren’t part of your city when you built it and we weren’t part of your war against those Daleks. Why did you seek us now?”

“Aren’t you also fighting the Daleks?” the Doctor asked.

“We do what we do,” the wizard answered enigmatically. “But those Daleks are tough. You need lots of luck, killing Daleks.”

“And experience.”

“Are you suggesting an alliance?”

The wizard and the Doctor started some sort of negotiation, or perhaps verbal sparring. Harry lost track of the conversation almost immediately - he had only known the Doctor for a day, but it was already obvious it was hard enough to follow the Doctor when he knew what the hell he was talking about. Both the wizard and the Doctor knew a lot more about the situation than he did, and didn’t seem willing to share their knowledge with the rest of the group, at least until they had reached some sort of conclusion. Despite that, some of the others seemed keen to remain a part of the conversation. Noble, of course, being the leader of the small rebel group, would have considered it a great insult to be excluded. Marvin, Harry felt, perhaps a bit unkindly, had to feel he was at the centre of things. But Harry’s own attention wandered, especially once he had noticed the objects on the wall.

The book cases were packed with Muggle books and magic books, but some shelves sported a variety of magical instruments. In the centre-most case, four full shelves were dedicated to objects with the rough shape of hour-glasses of various sizes, hour-glasses that seemed very familiar - time-turners. Some of them were very small, like the one Hermione had most of their third year at Hogwarts. Some of them were large, larger than he’d ever seen, even in the Department of Mysteries. Now he noticed another time turner, the biggest of the lot, sitting on the floor and gathering dust. He stretched his hand and touched it, brushing the dust off.

“Not sure you should touch that’s don’t belong to you, kid,” he jumped when he heard the wizard’s voice.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You like those time-turners, eh?”

“I’ve seen some before. Personally, that was a rather weird experience.”

The wizard’s brow seemed even more wrinkled after hearing Harry’s answer. “You seen time-turners before, boy?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was a glint in his eye.

“Yeah, it was - a long time ago. Somewhere far far away.”

Now the wizard was walking away from the Doctor and standing in front of Harry. His eye scanned him, until it came to rest on his forehead, in a movement that Harry was painfully familiar with, even if he did not expect to experience it here.

“Well look here,” he said and smiled a wide smile, “fairytales coming to life, eh?”

“Fairytales?”

“You never hear of those tales about The Boy Who Lived?”

“No,” said Marvin and Manach, at the same time as Polly and Noble said “yes”.

The wizard laughed. “S’funny you never hear of ‘em, wizard.”

“Oh, come on,” said Noble impatiently. “Surely you have, it’s one of those morality tales - you know, people bring their own downfall? About a powerful wizard who heard a prophecy that a boy would grow up to be his downfall, and decided to kill him when he was a baby. Only the baby had been protected by the parents who loved him and the evil wizard couldn’t understand that because he didn’t know what love meant, so the curse rebounded on him. That kind of story.”

Harry stared at her, lost for words. They had known so little about the wizarding world - about Earth, for all that mattered. They had a whole, insane mythology, and had woven the Doctor into that mythology... the last thing he expected would be that some version of his own story would survive, especially as a morality tale to Muggle children.

“Well I’ve never heard it,” Marvin said in a defensive voice.

“Doesn’t matter, really,” Harry mumbled, confused with the sudden attention. He was saved, however, in the last moment: the Doctor jumped around and looked at the time-turners, an odd expression on his face.

“Time turners? Are those the... wizards use them for time travel, right? A bit rubbish though...”

“Time travel?!” Marvin seemed about to start in one of his magic-rants, and Harry cut across him. “They worked for us,” he said, and the wizard chuckled.

“Well - “ the Doctor seemed lost for words for a moment. It seemed he only now realised there was no proper introduction - the wizard had already known enough about them, and never offered information about himself. “What was your name again?”

“Didn’t mention my name first time round, Time Lord,” said the wizard in amusement.

“Well, I’m the Doctor, that’s Harry, and these are Noble, Marvin and Polly. You’ve already met Manach.”

The wizard now burst in laughter. “Been making traps for me, eh, Time Lord? Can’t be rude now. Name’s Mayik. Been working with the Pacifists for fifty years, only trained wizard in the city now. Well - “ he looked at Harry and laughed again - “only trained wizard whom those Pacifists know.”

“But you’re not one of them?” the Doctor asked.

“Wizards ain’t never part of Muggle societies, Time Lord. Always been different, always will be.”

“Our wizards are an equal part of our society,” Noble said quietly, and Mayik laughed again, with that hearty laughter of his.

“Trained wizards, Miss Noble. Him’s got long way to go. But now we know each other, Doctor, you like our time-turners?”

“I’ve just been thinking, call me mad, time-turners emit a constant low-level Artron energy, right? And, if I’m not mistaken, then much like the Tardis...” he flashed his sonic screwdriver and called “Ha!” in a victorious voice. “They also have a small concentration of Huon particles! Course they do, Torchwood would never have been able to reproduce the particles or ever recognise them if it weren’t for a small concentration near-by, maybe even a wizard was involved in that extraction and then - “ he smiled and then the smile disappeared and he stopped for a moment. Harry was unsure whether it was because he realised he was rambling or because whatever he was going to say next had reminded him of something. But just as he stopped, he started again, this time speaking for the group rather than for himself. “Now whatever the Daleks are doing here, their technology has time travel. But they’ve never used Huon particles, that’s only ever been Time Lords and wizards. And I reckon, if we’re clever, we could use the Huon particles to interfere with their machinery, especially if we connect the time-turners to the Tardis. They are poisonous after all.”

“Poisonous?”

Mayik looked at him, interested. “And those particles,” he said slowly, “if it interfered enough with those Daleks...?”

“Well, once this planet is no longer useful for the Daleks...”

“Did you say poisonous?”

“You reckon they leave.”

“Yup. Or at least, they’d be contained.”

“Fascinating,” was Mayik’s answer, but it was obvious he was thinking hard of this new possibility. His eyes rested on the big time-turner, cold and calculating.

“ _Excuse me_ ”, Noble’s irritation got the better of her and she stepped between the Time Lord and the wizard, “did you just say _poisonous_?!”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” the Doctor calmed her down, or at least tried to. “Not when they’re contained within the time-turners. It’ll be just for a short period of time, after all...”

“What will?!”

“Oh, didn’t I say? We’re going to flood them with the Huon particles. They’ll think the whole planet’s useless, and leave!”

“We are? What happened to your previous plan?”

“Erm, Noble - “ Harry tried to point out the obvious, but she cut across him.

“You thought of something different, you wanted to go to their power source - “

“ - Noble...”

“You needed to see what they’re doing, now you don’t even care anymore, and - “

“Noble!”

“What?!”

“I think his previous plan was sort of to plan... the plan. I mean,” Harry tried to think of a way to phrase this in a less awkward way, “we were mainly thinking about, you know, figuring out what the Daleks were doing... to figure out how to stop them...”

Noble’s face turned darker and she rounded at the Doctor. “You had no plan?”

The Doctor scratched an ear. He was obviously unhappy with the direction this conversation was going. In the end he settled for “Sort of,” in a slightly lower voice, and looking at his feet.

“But we - crossed all this - Daleks - risked our lives - typical!” she said eventually and left the room in a huff.

“Typical?” the Doctor looked offended. “But I’ve never done that before! Well - not here!”

The insult to the Doctor’s planning capabilities was soon forgotten. Polly, ever practical, mentioned that the last meal they had had was lunch of the previous day (and Harry had to point out that he didn’t even get that), and despite the Doctor’s fidgety enthusiasm concerning the time-turners, they were taken by Mayik into a big dining room.

Like the rest of their base, it was clean to the last table, made of shining steel, and extremely large. A large buffet stood at one end of the room, offering various snacks, while hot food containers stood at the opposite side. Despite being covered, the delicious smell of hot food had filtered through the room, and made Harry’s stomach rumble. Only now did he realise just how hungry he was. At Mayik’s lead, they all picked up plates and went to explore the hot dishes. Most of the food was unidentifiable - it came in colours and textures Harry hoped to never associate with food again, especially those that seem to shine brighter than the spotless walls in pink and yellow. The little bit of it that did seem identifiable was even more ominous in a way, as Harry never considered such things to be food. In the end he settled for something that could have been rice, large blobs that smelled much better than they looked, and a bowl of bright pink - something. Everyone, including the Doctor, highly recommended that radioactive-like liquid that was supposed to pass for ‘soup’, and Harry decided to give it a go. From the cold buffet he picked what he first considered to be salad, but decided against eating it when he caught the worried glances by the rest of group, Mayik and Dale included.

The Doctor didn’t stop fidgeting, but all the rest seemed to want to know the plan better before continuing with it. Noble, in particular, didn’t seem eager to start another expedition deep into Dalek territory without knowing all the details. Harry couldn’t blame her, even if he thought she was being slightly too hostile towards the Doctor. When he mentioned the Daleks were there and dangerous, she threw a dirty look at him and made a point to say loudly that the Daleks had been there and dangerous for the past few generations, and that nothing had changed.

“Something has changed,” the Doctor insisted. “They know I’m here.”

But the Doctor faced a disappointment. Dale had returned not long after, and reported an increase in Dalek activity around the base. They weren’t clear whether the Daleks knew or somehow guessed they were there, or whether they simply had increased their patrols and ended up in areas that were often otherwise abandoned. But the Pacifists’ main defence from the Daleks - in addition to simply remaining hidden from their knowledge and sight - had always been the limited ways to enter their base: there were no doors except for the one they had entered through earlier, no secret entrance except the one that was already sealed. The Daleks could not get in, but as long as they remained around the door, neither could anyone from within the compound get out.

In the hours that passed, the small group tried to make the best of their situation. The Doctor had explained at length and speed the various technological features of time-turners, and had left them all confused. He dismissed Harry’s query about the effectivity of the magic-based time travelling device in this planet, citing “Huon particles” as the sole explanation, and left the rest frustrated, in addition to confused. They had gone through the plan, time and time again, until Noble had been fully satisfied they would be taking no unneeded risks. This had earned her fidgeting not only from the Doctor, but from her own people, as well. Manach made a face and muttered that this was too complicated, Polly didn’t like Noble contradicting the Doctor too often, and Marvin seemed to adopt the opinion that it didn’t matter if they all survived it, as long as the Daleks were gone.

“Well,” Noble snapped at him, after trying to quash the various complaints for the past ten minutes, “you might not care about dying, but I value my life very much, thank you.”

“I’m not saying that!” he protested. “I’m just saying, sometimes things have to be bad in order to get better, and if we have to pay a price in order to get rid of the Daleks, so be it, I’m willing to pay that price. In the long run, we’re doing the right thing!”

“Well, the right thing as far as I’m concerned is to live to see a Dalek-free life,” she said in irritation.

“This is always your problem! You’re never willing to pay the price! You’re never willing to take any chances! It’s always ‘as long as we survive it’s alright’ - well I’m tired of just surviving!” he slammed his hand on the table. “What kind of a leader is so afraid to take chances, anyway? You just know you’re the leader because you’re a red-head and everyone was so desperate they would hold on to that stupid superstition!”

“Shut up,” Polly got up from his seat, and faced Marvin, flushed with anger. It looked as if all the blood in his body had flowed to his face - and some of Noble’s, too. She was shaking, but unlike Polly, her face was a bloodless grey. “Shut up,” Polly repeated. Marvin stormed out of the room.

Noble left the room as well. They looked at her go in silence. No one knew what to say. All of a sudden, the discussions of the plan didn’t seem as exciting. Eventually Polly gave a cry of pain and sat down, shaking himself. He had jumped on his feet to defend Noble, and had forgotten all about his injury. His face twisted into a grimace as he re-arranged his leg on the bench. Mayik noticed it, and approached him, examining the leg, and then took out a couple of small bottles from within his robes and started applying various colourful ointments on the injured leg.

“Hope this leg not gonna be a problem tomorrow,” he muttered.

“It’ll be fine,” Polly said shortly. He then looked at Harry; some of Harry’s curiosity, as well as the awkwardness he was feeling, must have shown, because he started talking again.

“You shouldn’t take Marvin too seriously,” he said, his voice still angry. “When he’s frustrated about his precious magic stuff he tends to take it out on everyone. Usually on Noble, because she doesn’t think magic is the bright future of mankind he thinks it is. I don’t know why she puts up with him.”

“What did he mean, though?” it was the Doctor who asked, possibly more sharply than he intended. “About Noble?”

“There’s always been legends about red-haired women, especially since it’s so rare,” they heard her voice and jumped. She was standing at the entrance, calmer now, her voice stable and clear. “They say it goes back to the Phy - to the last time you were here, Doctor. It’s been about fifty years from the day the Daleks came here when I was born, and my parents...” she laughed a bitter laughter. “They always had faith, anyway. That’s what got them killed, if you ask me. But they saw they had a red-haired daughter, and decided to call me Noble. After the legend.”

“After Donna,” the Doctor said wistfully.

“Was she the red-headed woman we saw in your...? When the Daleks captured us, I mean, the one - “

“Yeah,” he said.

“She looked nice.” Noble didn’t ask what happened to her, why didn’t she travel with the Doctor anymore. She didn’t need to, really - the Doctor’s expression was all the information she would ever need.

“She was brilliant.” The Doctor’s voice was choked full of emotions, and his eyes had a weird bright shine to them. But he said it in pride. “I think she would have liked you.”

“Believe it or not, I can see it’s quite a compliment,” Noble said, and she couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it wasn’t meant to be a vicious joke. The Doctor seemed to recognise it for what it was, because his face broke into a smile, and his gaze focused again on Noble.

“Oh, you are brilliant, you are, don’t let them tell you anything else!”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “But Marvin does have a point. It doesn’t matter how good I am, if it wasn’t for the hair, or the name, I probably wouldn’t have been given this position. We’re not as organised as these guys are - “ she gestured at Mayik. “We’re refugees, Doctor. A bunch of people who have spent their lives trying to survive the Daleks. We don’t really think of organised attacks and open rebellion and risking whatever little freedom we have left for the chance to be truly free.”

“You’re doing what you can,” the Doctor said kindly. “Fighting the Daleks is suicide most of the time.”

“And now?”

He face broke into a huge grin. “And now we have a good plan.”

“And it will work,” said a sheepish voice from the doorway, and they all turned to look at Marvin. Polly was still angry, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to get up and start arguing again, but Marvin didn’t give him that opportunity. Instead, he looked at Noble. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright,” she shrugged.

“It’s just that - you know. Finally, for the first time, we have a chance to - “

“It’s alright,” she cut him, but her voice wasn’t harsh, and he seemed to understand he wasn’t being rebuked. So he shrugged and fell silent.

The rest of the day was spent on more preparations. By the time Dale showed up and told them the Daleks must have given up on finding them in that area, it was too late to leave the base anyway. The Doctor still seemed happy to leave at a moment’s notice, but both Noble and Mayik pointed out they were all getting tired and that it would easier to avoid the Daleks after a good night’s sleep. After all, she argued, it’s not like the Daleks would be sleeping, too.

She was right. They had surveillance equipment in other parts of the city, and it was clear the human slaves were made to work throughout the darkness, throughout the night, to fit to the Daleks’ schedule. The Doctor winced at the pictures they were shown. It was obvious he, at least, did not subscribe to Marvin’s theories about the suffering of the few. There was nothing he wanted to do more at that moment than jump at the Daleks and save the slaves. He almost did - one moment, they saw a slave, making a desperate attempt to escape the Daleks, shot to death by a beam of light; the second, the Doctor was on his feet.

“Doctor!” Noble and Polly called at the same time. He looked very unhappy, but didn’t try to get out of the dining room. They stopped watching the footage then, though, and stared at each other, unsure what to do now, but unwilling to go to sleep just yet. Harry himself felt more active than he did for the past weeks, as active and full of adrenaline as he had been that entire day, despite their frequent journeys. He was more than prepared to leave the base now and start the dangerous journey towards the Dalek area. But he, like the rest, knew they needed the sleep and the daylight.

Instead, he found himself in a conversation with Marvin.

“Marvin,” he said in a slightly exasperated voice, not feeling up to yet another interrogation on spells but not seeing a way out, “I really don’t think this is the best time to teach you spells. I’m sure we could do it later.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Harry was surprised at the indifference Marvin had dismissed his comment, “Mayik said he’ll teach me later.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“I wanted to ask you something else, though. You travelled here in time, right?”

“Yeah - not with a time-turner, though,” Harry anticipated Marvin’s next question. “I’ve only used them once in my life and that was to travel back three hours in time and to the same place. Now it was with the Doctor, he has a time machine.”

“Yeah, the blue box. But, the thing is, what is it like? Being a wizard where you come from? Because...” Marvin seemed to hesitate. “You know, your memory. When the Daleks captured us, that bloke talked about a war.”

“Yeah, there was a war.”

“With the Muggles?”

“No, with other wizards.”

Marvin seemed shocked at that idea. “Why would wizards want to make war with other wizards?”

“Well - it’s complicated.” Harry thought for a moment. “There was this wizard - “

“ - The one from Noble’s story? The one who killed your parents and tried to kill you? Is that story even true?”

Harry winced when he heard Marvin talk about these things so casually. He knew it wasn’t Marvin’s fault - after all, it was just a story for him, not something that happened to real people. He didn’t have to live 16 years with the Dursleys. He didn’t lose his parents at the age of one, or had anyone he had ever met gape at his forehead. He didn’t dream of the forest.

Marvin seemed to realise his mistake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - obviously, your parents and all, I’m such an - “

“It’s alright,” Harry said dully.

“But I mean, why would wizards fight each other? We’re being pushed around by Muggles anyway, and - “

Noble, who had heard that, walked intentionally and pointedly between the two of them, pushing Marvin slightly out of her way. It was evident she did not completely forgive him for his earlier words.

“Aw, c’mon, Noble, I didn’t mean it like that! I know you’re doing your best and all, but let’s admit it, wizards aren’t the top of your priority.”

“People are the top of my priority,” she said coldly, but he didn’t seem to realise he was being told off.

“Well, that’s the point, really! You care about everyone! It’s not a bad thing, I’m not saying it is! But us wizards have been losing those things that make us wizards for ages, and no Muggle is going to make sure there’s a school for wizards opening or finding out who’s a wizard or anything like that.”

“Well, in my days it was a bit different,” Harry commented. “Wizards did their best to remain hidden from Muggles. The Muggles didn’t even know there was a war going on.”

“Why hidden? Were Muggles trying to kill you because you were wizards? There’s always these stories about Muggles who were afraid of witches, and - “

Harry started laughing, and couldn’t stop. There was something extremely funny in the notions of wizards hiding form Muggle persecution. It shouldn’t have been funny, not after the murders of Muggles, not after the persecution of Muggle-borns, not after the past year that he had spent in fear and hiding and running like mad because he, like his father, refused to accept the protection given to him by his blood status and decided to fight Voldemort and everything he stood for.

Marvin, of course, didn’t understand his laughter for what it was, and seemed almost offended. His hurt expression had calmed Harry down. “Sorry, Marvin... wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just that - well, Muggles could never really hurt wizards. There are too many wizards and they’re too strong. No, they’re keeping it secret because they don’t want the Muggles to keep on asking them for help.”

Marvin considered this for a moment. “But wizards could just say no! Like you said, it’s not like Muggles could do anything to them. I don’t get it,” he said, disappointed. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, maybe it would have made sense if you lived in our time,” Harry said more sombrely.

“And this wizard - “

“ - Voldemort.”

“ - Voldemort, he didn’t want to live in hiding.”

“No. He thoughts wizards should rule over the Muggles. He thought our place was on top of the pyramid,” Harry said darkly.

Marvin opened his mouth, ready to continue the discussion, but Noble interrupted them again. “Mayik says our rooms are ready. I suggest - “ she threw a dirty look at Marvin - “we go to sleep. We want to leave early tomorrow morning. Marvin, you’re in room 12, that’s down that corridor to the right. Harry, you’re in room 16, down the corridor but to the left. We’re meeting here tomorrow morning at five a.m. If you don’t wake up - ” she threw Marvin another dirty look - “we’re not waiting for you.”

She left then to give the rest their rooms and instructions. Marvin joined Polly, Manach and Noble in leaving the room towards their beds. Harry thought of joining them, but decided against it - Polly was still cold towards Marvin, and had obviously not forgiven him yet, either. They left the room in awkward silence, and Harry decided not to try and be a part of that group.

Instead, he searched for the Doctor. Mayik had already left the dining room as well, he saw, but not before delivering the time-turners to the room. The Doctor was sitting on one of the spotless steel tables, sonic screwdriver in hand, and was shining it at the various cables that were connecting the time-turners together.

“It’s going to be a bit difficult to carry all of these time-turners tomorrow, isn’t it?” Harry asked as he came to sit next to the Doctor.

“Oh, we’re not going to keep the cables. In fact - “ the Doctor jumped and tugged at one of the wires. The entire construction shook for a moment, and the next minute the Doctor had held the cable in his hand, free of the time-turners.

“I thought they’re supposed to be connected.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re not connected through cables! We just needed these cables to charge them all at the same time. The connection’s through the Huon particles, it’s built in. Usually it doesn’t matter, because they’re not all charged at the same time, so they’re out of sync. That’s what these cables did, see? Synced them together. Good as new.”

“Good, then you can go to sleep, then.” The Doctor didn’t reply - as Harry was coming to expect. “What, don’t Time Lords need sleep?”

“Much less than humans do!” said the Doctor in mock indignation. “Really, the way you waste your life away...”

“But you still need sleep.”

“Yup.”

“So why did you stay up last night?”

The Doctor sniffed. “I was afraid you’d burn your toe,” he said. Harry didn’t laugh.

He knew where this was coming from, he thought. He had spent only a day and a half at the Doctor’s side, but there were already some things that were crystal clear. The Doctor’s energy, his enthusiasm, how he cared - but also whatever it was that he was hiding deep inside, that must have had something to do with the Daleks. Whenever he saw them, his expression looked exactly like Harry felt when he thought of Voldemort. And that red-head, the woman called Donna Noble, who had been his friend.

“What happened to her? Your friend? You never said.”

“What friend?” the Doctor asked, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he was sincere or just trying to avoid the question.

“Donna, was it? The one you were here with, the one Noble’s named after.”

The Doctor didn’t answer.

“Did it have something to do with the Daleks?”

“I think it’s time to sleep, don’t you?” the Doctor jumped to his feet in fake cheerfulness.

“Doctor,” Harry insisted, and the Doctor sighed.

“She’s alive. She’s okay.”

“But - “

“It doesn’t matter, Harry.”

“Doctor.”

The Doctor straightened his gaze and looked directly at him. “People who travel with me get hurt. I shouldn’t have taken you with me anyway.” His voice sounded colder than he’d ever heard it, and Harry wondered whether he crossed an invisible line. But he still pushed.

“What, you think I don’t know how to take care of myself?”

“I know you can, that’s why I took you. You can survive wandering off. And still look where I got you. In the middle of a war with Daleks.”

“Well, isn’t it better I’m here? I can help when I’m here, if I weren’t around you probably wouldn’t have got here in the first place!”

“You don’t know the Daleks. They’re not Voldemort!”

“Yeah, they’re not personally after me and trying to murder me!” Harry wasn’t quite sure when did this become an argument, but it must have at some point, because both he and the Doctor had raised their voices.

“Yeah, they’re after everything that isn’t a Dalek. They would kill you the second they see you, without saving you for their leader, or wondering what your death could mean.”

“I’m not underestimating them!”

“You’re not scared enough of them!”

“I see what they’re doing here, I can look around, it’s just that you’re so busy thinking about what they did to your friend that you’re not taking the possibility of their defeat seriously!”

Harry stopped. He didn’t realise until that moment that this was what he thought, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was true, and he knew that this had been the thing that bothered him the most that entire afternoon.Yes, the Doctor jumped around in his happy frenzy, but it didn’t feel sincere. Oh, his efforts were definitely sincere, but just like taking the entire group on a dangerous mission without having a real idea - just in order to have something to do - Harry was starting to get the impression the Doctor didn’t believe the Daleks could be defeated.

The Doctor, however, didn’t stay to hear Harry explain all of this. He said “Goodnight”, and left the room. After a few moments, Harry followed. He was already drafting an apology to tell the Doctor in the morning when he opened the door to room 16 and saw the Doctor sitting on the lower bunk of a two-bunk bed.

“Oh,” Harry said. It made sense, of course, that they would share a room, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. And worse, his apology wasn’t even ready yet. He had no idea what to say, especially as he was sure, deep down, that he was right.

But the Doctor didn’t seem reluctant to share the room with him. When he smiled, it was sincere. And then he sighed.

“It wasn’t what they did to her,” he said quietly. “It was me. She was there because of me, she was in danger because of me, and by saving her life, I - “ his voice was choked for a moment. “She didn’t want that, anyway.”

“And the Daleks?”

The Doctor didn’t answer. He couldn’t blame him, not really. Whatever it was must have been too recent, too deep; Harry himself had known that feeling all too well. Eventually, he got tired of standing there at the door, and climbed into the upper bunk. Next to him there was something that could only be the light switch. He pressed it, and was surrounded by darkness.

Only then did he hear the Doctor’s voice. “There was a war,” he said.

“Against the Daleks?”

“We lost. The Daleks - my people took them with them. Most of them, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“Everyone died.” He said it with such finality in his voice, that Harry couldn’t help but shudder. He tried to imagine, just for a moment, how the wizarding society would have looked had Voldemort won, but couldn’t. It was too terrible to imagine.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. The Doctor sniffed below him.

“But you have a time machine. You could - “

“I can’t,” the Doctor said, softly but firmly. “I can’t cross my own timeline.”

That sounded familiar to Harry. It wasn’t so different, after all, from the wizards’ own rules of time travel. You mustn’t be seen, or terrible things would happen. But there were other opportunities, weren’t there?

“What about Donna?” Harry asked. “You could visit her, see how she’s doing. Even if it’s before you met her, still, just saying hello, it can’t - “

“No.” The Doctor shuffled in his bed. He breathed loudly, and Harry thought he would say something else but in the end he just said, “Anyway, time to sleep,” and Harry realised the moment was over.

“Good night,” he said from his bunk, and the Doctor answered him with a good night, too. For some reason, Harry had the feeling the Doctor was not going to get any sleep that night after all.


	7. Harry Potter and the Fish-Men of Mars (part 1, chapter 7)

Morning came too soon. Harry felt as if he had just hit the pillow when the light came on and the Doctor’s hand was on his shoulder. “C’mon,” the Doctor muttered and Harry reluctantly sat up. He had a very bad taste in his mouth - he would never had thought it, but two days without brushing his teeth had taken their toll. He’d have thought that after more than six months of living on the run he’d have been used to it, but now he just felt guilty for not appreciating enough their old magical tent with its fully equipped bathroom.

The Doctor either guessed what he was thinking, or felt the same way himself. Either way, he rummaged the inside of his suit, and came up with a toothbrush. “Has peppermint on it,” he said, and Harry passed the thing over his teeth. It had a surprisingly refreshing effect - he was still smelly and tired, but now he also felt fully awake.

They arrived at the mess hall about one minute after five, which earned them a dirty look from Noble. She seemed to be very tired and tense herself - and Harry couldn’t blame her. If everything went according to plan, by the end of that day, she and her people would be free. He was a bit resentful that their small delay had earned them that look, considering they were the first ones in, but he let this pass. It was too early in the morning to argue, as the yawn he had just failed to stifle reminded them all. He wandered towards the cold buffet, looking for coffee. The Doctor joined him after a second - he had approached Noble and seemed to try and start one of his cheerful conversations, but Noble gave him a look that could kill lesser life-forms, and he soon gave up and walked sheepishly towards Harry.

“You need an off-switch,” Harry commented through another yawn. The Doctor just smiled his big smile, and got a piece of toast. Harry couldn’t even think of eating without getting nauseated.

Two minutes later, Manach and Polly showed up. As soon as they walked in, Noble rounded up on Polly. “Where’s Marvin?” she demanded.

“Couldn’t - “ Polly yawned loudly - “Sorry, Noble. Couldn’t wake him up.”

Noble made a voice that sounded suspiciously like Professor McGonnagall when she was very unhappy about something. Polly followed Manach and joined them near the coffee.

“Well, we’re not waiting for him,” Noble said.

“Wh - what?” Polly turned to her, surprised. “C’mon, Noble, he’ll wake up soon! You can’t - “

“Yes, I can. We can’t afford waiting. I told him yesterday, if he doesn’t wake up we’re going without him.”

“Yeah, but - “

“But what?” she demanded, and it seemed Polly only now realised she was very serious.

“He wants to come,” he said quietly, but even he didn’t sound too convinced by it.

“Yeah, well, if he wanted to come so much, he’d have bothered waking up,” she said coldly.

“Can we do it without him?”

“Yup.” And that was it.

Outside the mess hall, Mayik, Dale, and some of Dale’s men were waiting for them, standing next to the pile of time-turners. Dale handed them bags, and they started stuffing in the smaller time-turners, while the bigger ones would be carried by the Pacifists. The Doctor’s brow furrowed for a moment, but when Harry asked what was wrong, he shrugged and dismissed it. “Thought we had thirty-six. Must have made a mistake while counting them last night,” he said, but Harry wasn’t quite sure he was being completely truthful. Despite the short period of time he had known the Doctor, he had come to expect this of him: the Doctor almost never outright lied, as far as he could tell, but he made no effort to let you know the truth. In this, much like with the apparent madness and the twinkle in the eyes, he reminded him of Albus Dumbledore.

But there was no time to question any of this further. They had finished packing the time-turners, and were off.

Harry expected climbing up the stairs to the bridge-network would be hard with the cargo of time-turners on their backs, but they felt lighter than they looked. Even the Pacifists, who were carrying the bigger ones, didn’t seem to have any trouble at all. “They’re connected to the Tardis,” the Doctor explained. “Through the Huon particles. It... sort of takes care of the weight.” Harry didn’t quite understand what the Doctor meant, but that, too, wasn’t that big of a surprise.

The climb was eventually over. Mayik opened the door, and they were out, blinking in the sunlight. The explosion of light had already happened - daylight was rushing into the dark stairs. He blinked a coupe of times as he followed the Doctor out into the bridge, his eyes struggling with the emerald reflections from the bridges as much as with the sudden brightness. When he got used to the all the light, he sneaked a glance downwards. There were no Daleks there. For now, they were safe.

Walking the bridges back seemed faster than it did the first time round. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether this was tbecause Dale had taken them through some short cuts that were not known to them before, or because now he knew where they were going - he could see it in the distance, the same building in which they had spent their first night in the city.

As they got closer and closer to the beginning of the bridge network, the signs of Dalek activity became more and more pronounced. It wasn’t just the fact that after a while, some Daleks could be seen below them on the city grounds and between the buildings. The bridges themselves must have been the same bridges the Daleks had searched the day before. Dale had stopped them at one time, to show them Dalek track marks on the bridge they were walking on. Another time, he pointed to a singed part of the handrail that looked like the result of Dalek weaponry.

They walked in silence. There was no banter this time, no jokes, nor any chit-chat. None of them dared talking, in fear the Daleks underneath might hear them and destroy their plans. And as they continued walking in silence, the tension seemed to grow and grow, and with it the fears. What if they were caught, what if the Daleks noticed them, what if they failed? The Doctor’s warning from the night before came back to Harry’s mind: the Daleks aren’t going to wait for the chief Dalek to deal with them if they noticed the intruders, they would kill them on the spot. No last minute rescues due to their stupidity or greed. No repeated mistakes. And none of them would repeat Voldemort’s mistake of underestimating love or humanity.

He shook his head and looked down again. There was no point in thinking about these things, it did nothing but nurture his fear and let it grow. It was best to concentrate on their mission - and trust the Doctor. This had not been the first time he’d dealt with the Daleks. A small voice in his head reminded him what he said the night before - his people might have lost their war with the Daleks, but they took them with them, and the Doctor, after all, survived.

They were going to be fine. He had to trust this. There was no other option. And hey, he told himself, after everything he had survived, it would be ridiculous to die in the future by the hand of aliens, of all things.

Eventually, they had arrived at the very first building. There were signs of Dalek activity everywhere there, too, and Harry was glad Manach had covered any signs of their presence. They didn’t stay long there, though. Dale gestured towards the ladder, and they started the long climb downwards. Harry sneaked a look at Polly, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble with his leg. Whatever the ointment Mayik had given him was, it must have worked.

Harry expected them to leave the ladder when they reached the ground level, but instead they kept on climbing downwards, straight into the tunnels. They led right into the Dalek tunnels where they had escaped the day before, Harry realised. And indeed, once inside the tunnels he could see it was the exact same kind of tunnels that connected eventually with Noble’s theatre-camp. They must have been carved in the rock, because they had gone far lower than the ground level; but if they were, there was no sign of rock, mud, or earth in them. They were encompassed in steel panels, old wirings, and rotting machinery. Here, like the rest of the tunnels, everything seemed ancient and unused. Harry remembered the Doctor saying he travelled in them the last time he’d been on Messaline - which must have been thousands of years before, as he visited the planet before the Dalek invasion, before the building of the city, before the peace between Hath and humans.

Harry hoped the Doctor could remember it after all these years. For him, the tunnels all looked the same. He had soon lost all sense of direction and had no idea where they were headed. Apparently some of the others did know, because soon after, they left the tunnel and walked into a large, round room.

“Those Daleks passed round here,” Dale muttered, and they jumped to work. No one but the Doctor, and perhaps Mayik, truly realised what they were doing. As far as the rest were concerned, they had just set a bunch of the time turners up in a circle, when every once in a while the Doctor would come and switch certain time turners. There was no need to connect them, the Doctor explained, as they were already connected though the Huon particles and the treatment he had given them the night before.

Finally, they were each sent to a different corridor with a couple of time turners, to set them up as well. “Just put them about, oh, 10 inches from each other, and get back here,” were the Doctor’s slightly vague instructions. Harry started feeling the annoyance growing within him, but said nothing. Trust the Doctor, he reminded himself, and went in the direction designated to him. Polly was already returning from his corridor, and gave Harry a look that showed he shared Harry’s frustration.

“Reckon the Doctor at least knows what he’s doing?” he asked Harry. “I’d hate to sit here and wait for Daleks that would never appear. Actually, no, I’d hate to sit here and wait for Daleks, full stop.”

“Thought you were scared of him just as much?” Harry couldn’t help but commenting. There was such a difference between this Polly and the Polly who, just a couple of days ago, squeaked in fear when the Doctor approached him.

“Harry, in the past couple of days I’ve met him, the Godsend, you, who apparently came straight out of kids’ fairytales, the Pacifists who were supposed to be just a legend, escaped a Dalek prison, and been to the Abandoned City. There’s only so long you can stay shocked and scared, then it kinda wears off.”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t deny Polly had a point. With a wink, he left him and continued down the corridor.

Unfortunately, the corridor wasn’t the straight line he hoped it would be. Instead, almost immediately after leaving the room, Harry had to make a turn. He sighed and started counting steps, trying to determine ten inches exactly, but eventually had to compromise on something that might as well had been 9.5 or eleven. It’ll have to do, he shrugged to himself. If the Doctor wanted anything more accurate, he would have to come and move the time turners himself. He walked down the corridor another ten inches, and put the second time turner in place, when a soft whizzing sound was heard.

He straightened up - and saw a Dalek eyestalk, coming out from the corner and looking directly at him. He jumped in surprise. The Dalek itself seemed almost as surprised as he was - but got to his senses much faster than Harry. The weird-looking gun was aimed at Harry within a second.

“You are not in your designated area!” it screeched at him in its high, metallic voice. Harry swallowed. “Explain! Explain! Explain!”

“I - “ he stammered, looking for any excuse that would prevent the creature from going back the corridor to bring back-up - or going forward and discover the rest of the group before they were ready for it. “I got lost,” he said eventually.

“Humans are not permitted to wander off!” it insisted.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said, slightly relieved. The Dalek had obviously mistaken him for one of the human slaves. “I got lost.”

“Daleks do not accept apologies!” the Dalek retorted. “You will return to your designated area or you will be exterminated!”

“Right, right,” Harry said. He looked for a second at the time-turner. There was nothing to do about it now, they were both set. He just had to hope the Doctor would be able to do whatever it was he planned on doing, that he would continue despite Harry’s disappearance. “I’m going.”

He continued down the tunnel the Dalek came from, hoping beyond hope the creature would decide to follow him. When it did, it dawned on Harry he had no idea where the human slaves were. He wondered how long he could keep the pretence until the Daleks realised he was not, in fact, one of their slaves.

“Halt!” screeched the thing behind him. Harry stopped suddenly, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. “You will go to the mines!”

Mines... that never sounded good. “But I’m needed in the - “

“You will go! Go! Go!” the creature didn’t seem to care where Harry was needed. At a push from his gun, Harry started walking forward again. The corridor soon started sloping downwards, and the various metal panels and wires that covered the walls of the tunnel started giving way to a yellowish-grey stone. The air became thicker and hotter, and the smell became stranger and stranger.

After a while, Harry became aware of a slight humming noise. They must be getting closer, he realised, but the Dalek was still gliding behind him, and Harry could see no opportunity to escape. Then the tunnel ended abruptly, straight into the mouth of a mine. There were carts going in and out of the cave, in complete silence. They entered empty, and came back full of a yellowish-grey stone. Escorting the carts were people, their backs bowed and their clothes and faces much dirtier than his was, and Harry realised with a pang of panic that all the Daleks needed to do was take one good look at him, and realise he couldn’t possibly be one of their slaves. But none of the Daleks bothered giving him a second glance.

After all, the Doctor was wrong. The Daleks showed the same basic mistake that had been Voldemort’s downfall: they did not even stop to consider their victims. As long as they kept blindly assuming he must be under their control, he had a chance to escape. That thought made him feel like he had just conjured up a Patronus in a room full of Dementors. Things would be alright, in the end.

Harry started walking towards the mine, trying to look as resigned as possible to his new fate. All he needed was a second, the Dalek to turn away, a corridor to connect this mine back to the Doctor... anything... if he could only -

“Halt!” called a metallic Dalek voice. Harry stopped dead.

“You are not designated to the mines!” the Dalek barked at him.

“It - he - I was told to come here,” he didn’t dare look directly at the Dalek’s eyestalk, afraid to be caught in the lie.

“You will be scanned! Scanned! Scanned!” the Dalek cried and Harry could hear the eyestalk moving around. Please, he thought silently. Please, please, don’t -

“You are not a designated slave!” the Dalek said, and Harry’s heart started pounding heavily. So close. “Identify! Identify! Identify!”

Harry had no idea what to say - and then it got worse.

“You are of wizard stock!” the Dalek called. Harry couldn’t feel his heart anymore. “Exterminate! Exterminate! Ex - “

“Halt!” his rescue came in the voice of a second Dalek. This Dalek was different. While the rest of the Daleks all were the exact same size and roughly the same bronze colour, this one was much larger, and sporting bright red colours.

“He is a spy! He is of wizard stock! He will be exterminated!” the little creature shook.

“Halt!” repeated the red Dalek, in a deeper, frightening voice. “He is an ally of the Doctor! He will reveal the Doctor’s location!”

Harry raised his head, looked directly into the red Dalek’s blank eyepiece, and told him where to stuff it.

“You will cooperate! Or you will be exterminated!” the red Dalek cried shrilly.

“You really like that word, don’t you?” Harry shrugged. “I’m dead anyway, what difference does it make? But at least I’ll take you with me.”

“You will cooperate! Cooperate! Cooperate!” cried the red Dalek, but Harry ignored him. And then an idea came to his mind - after all, the Daleks didn’t know themselves where the Doctor had been, had they? When the Dalek next started screaming shrilly, Harry pretended to agree.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take you there,” he said.

“Move! Move! Move!” the Dalek didn’t even stop to gloat, and Harry started climbing up the tunnel, making sure to turn in the wrong place. When he looked back, there was a slave walking with them. One of the Daleks was ushering the man with his plunger, beckoning him to move forward, shouting at him with his shrill little voice. What did they need a human with them for? Harry wondered, but wasn’t really in a position to ask either the Daleks or the man, who seemed terrified beyond his wits. He kept on looking back at the mine, as if afraid he would never see it again. Harry couldn’t quite figure out why - surely this man, with his dirty clothes and underfed look, was better off in the fresh air than in the stinking and thick air of the mine? But the man didn’t seem to share that though. He walked trembling in front of the Dalek, his eyes glued in the ground below him.

Harry shrugged it off. When he was ready to run, he decided, he would get close enough to the man, to take him with him.

But he didn’t see the chance. The tunnels remained yellow and grey for a while, and then changed for metal. He was afraid for a second he was leading them inadvertently to the Doctor’s group after all, but had soon relaxed. Instead of going upwards, as he remembered the path he had taken before, this path was going downwards. The air did not return to be clean and fresh. Instead, it became even more damp and thick, until Harry started fearing for the other man’s health - he was breathing now in weird whizzing noises, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen. When the path forked again, Harry took the road leading upwards. Wherever it would lead them, he was now sure they were far enough from the Doctor, and perhaps the air here would be cleaner.

After another ten minutes or so, he realised that even if he wanted to, he could no longer lead them to the Doctor. They were in a part of the tunnels he had never been to before: it was neither rock nor metal, but covered in weird green canvas. What parts of the tunnel that were could be seen were plain steel doors, covered with a heavy layer of dust. It didn’t look like the Daleks had been to this part of the tunnel, at least not for a very long time. The air as well felt old, and stale. They must have reached a completely different part of the complex now, one where no soul had stepped foot in for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, this was when the Daleks seemed to have picked up on the fact he might not be leading them to the correct place, after all, and he realised he had underestimated them.

“Move! Move! Move!” the red Dalek cried, and Harry turned around, expecting to see the Dalek weapon directed at him - but instead it was the other man, the slave, who was forced to move forward.

“You are not cooperating!” the Dalek was eyeing him with his weird, blue eyepiece. “This is not where you come from!”

“No - I’m sorry, I must have got lost and - “

“We will go back! And you will cooperate! Or he will die!”

The man gave Harry a terrified look, and turned his eyes down to the earth again, not daring to look at the Daleks.

“No!” Harry shouted.

“Cooperate!” was all the Daleks had to say. “Cooperate! Cooperate!”

They understood humans better than he gave them credit for. He could not let this man die, not like this. Not when he could prevent it. He could only hope he had managed to buy the Doctor enough time to prepare. How that would help, he didn’t know. The Doctor talked about changing the Daleks’ readings, making them think the planet was no longer fit for their needs. It didn’t sound like anything that could have affected the Daleks if they came running down, guns blazing. But he had no choice. He had to trust the Doctor, because he had run out of ideas. They turned back.

Soon - too soon, too soon! - they were back on familiar grounds, in tunnels he had seen before. And this time, he took the tunnel that looked most familiar. “I think this is the right one,” he warned the Dalek, afraid that if he made a mistake, the Daleks would assume he was not cooperating and punish the man. “I’m not sure. I’ve only been here once.” The Dalek did not seem impressed with this explanation, and pressed onwards.

They were going up now, and the air was clean, almost fresh. And there was the time-turner. Too soon.

“This way,” he said, and this time he said it loud, as loud as he could, hoping beyond hope that the Doctor could hear him, knew he was coming with the Daleks, could prepare somehow. “It’s right around the corner.”

And then they turned, and there was a circle of time-turners around the entire cave. Harry imagined he could see a slight blue buzz all around him, but he was not sure whether it was real or not.

“Where is the Doctor?” called the creature behind him shrilly. “Where is the Doctor?”

Harry stepped into the circle, the Daleks right behind him. And all of a sudden he knew. He didn’t know how he knew - perhaps it was that tingling sensation, or something in the air that had reminded him of home, or something he did not realise he had lost ever since he left the London park into the Tardis and this mad adventure, or perhaps it was sheer dumb luck - but here, in this circle, magic could _work_. He drew out his wand and aimed it at the metal creatures.

“Impedimenta!” he cried. “Stupify! Reducto!” The Daleks, miraculously, stopped in place, having received the full blast of the curse. And the smaller, bronze Dalek, who had been on the receiving end of the Reductor curse, blew up. Encouraged by this, Harry aimed his wand at the frozen red Dalek. “Reducto!” he shouted again, and this Dalek exploded, too.

The Doctor came out of one of the tunnels, Noble immediately behind him. “Harry!” he cried, his voice slightly worried. “Get out of there!”

Harry just smiled. His legs were shaking - he didn’t realise until now how afraid he had been. He grabbed the old man, who was gaping, stunned, at the two broken Daleks, and left the circle - and just in time. A whining sound, like a high whistle blown, was heard immediately as they stepped out of the time-turners’ range, and the entire room started glowing blue.

“It’s working,” the Doctor said. Harry smiled, tried to congratulate the Doctor for a work well done, and everything went black.

The first thing he felt when he came to was a headache. His head had not hurt that badly since the last time his scar had burned, in the presence of Voldemort. But he could feel something soft behind him, and friendly-sounding whispers. If he strained his hearing, he could just make out what they said.

“Shhh! Tell them to stop shouting!”

“Stop shouting? Are you for real?!”

“Look, I’m as happy as anyone, but if they don’t stop shouting - “

“ - It won’t be the end of the world!”

“Are you sure?” he asked, opening his eyes. Bright light flooded his vision, causing the headache to resurge. He closed his eyes again, then opened them slowly and carefully.

The two speakers were Polly and Marvin. He was in a room, with bright blue walls, a room that looked familiar - he was back in the Pacifists’ base.

“What happened?” he sat up in one go, causing minor explosions behind his eyes. He sent a hand to the back of his head, and felt something soft - a bandage.

“You - fell. On a rock,” Polly sounded almost apologetic.

“On a rock?”

“Yeah, it sort of - was there. The Doctor said it was because of the Huon energy.”

“It’s poisonous,” Harry remembered.

“Yeah. Apparently you absorbed quite a lot of it when you went into the circle, but the Doctor said it was lucky you went in there, because your magic was - well, I’ve never seen magic this strong. Don’t worry, though - the Doctor did something and said you’d be alright.”

“Yeah? Well my head’s killing me,” Harry complained. His gaze fell on Marvin on for some reason got stuck on the stylised beard. “Good morning,” he commented drily “Did you always have that - ?”

“Had what?”

“Your - nevermind,” Harry said, his head killing him, and took a second look at Marvin.

Marvin himself looked at Harry unabashed. He didn’t look sorry at all he overslept and missed the defeat of the Daleks. But unlike what Harry had come to expect, he didn’t seem jealous at all, just happy. Harry assumed this was because even Marvin couldn’t whinge on about missing out the action or even the bad state of sorcery when the Daleks had just been defeated.

“They have been defeated, right?” he asked out loud. “The Daleks?”

“Oh yes!” Polly was ecstatic. “I still don’t quite understand what the Doctor did, but they all froze, at the same time! All of them!”

“Huon particles are interconnected,” the Doctor’s voice was heard, and they all jumped. Harry’s head suffered from a splitting pain yet again - he had just hit the upper bunk.

“Careful,” the Doctor said in amusement. Harry rubbed his head. “Anyway, as I was saying, Huon particles are connected. As soon as the Daleks walked into the circle, the particles were transmitted to all the Daleks in the planet. It poisoned them.”

“So they’re dead?”

“No, not dead,” said the Doctor quietly. “Just... frozen.”

“For how long?”

“Until we can figure out what to do with them. And if there are any other Daleks out there, this planet would look dead to them.”

“That spell you used on them could be a good idea,” Polly said, but the Doctor didn’t look too happy with the thought.

“How’s your head?” he looked at Harry, instead.

“Hurting. But I think it’s fine,” Harry said, and the Doctor approached and removed the bandage.

“Yeah, Mayik put something on it, looks fine now. Come on, you’re missing all the fun.”

“Yeah, c’mon Doctor, you’re also missing all the fun! If you’re not careful, they’ll drink all of your wine,” Polly laughed. He sounded drunk already.

The Doctor might have called it ‘fun’, but Harry had the distinct feeling he wasn’t so happy to be in the centre of attention. Harry couldn’t fault him, of course, but he knew how much the people of Messaline had wanted to celebrate, and how much the Doctor must have meant to them.

He was surprised, then, at how fast Noble ushered them outside of the packed mess hall. “We need to go back to the camp,” she said. “They will have heard by now that the Daleks are gone, but there’ll probably be complete chaos. I didn’t want to stay here as long as we did.”

“But now you can move back to the city?” Harry asked. “And join up with the Pacifists?”

Noble threw a look at Dale. Someone tapped his shoulder, and he noticed her watching him. He raised his glass in acknowledgement, and she smiled a strained smile. “We’ll see,” she said. “We haven’t been a part of the same society for centuries - maybe even millennia. We’ll have to see what people decide.”

“You really are lucky, you know,” Marvin said, possibly drunk, possibly trying to make up for his comment the night before or his failure to wake up. “For us, I mean. They’ll listen to what you have to say. As they should.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” she said again, and ushered them towards the bridges. The Pacifists didn’t seem happy to let them go, but didn’t stop them. And they left someone behind - Manach, who had revered the Pacifists since the day she heard her cousin’s stories, had insisted on staying. Noble seemed reluctant to let her go with them, but eventually gave up, when the Doctor pointed out she could be a good ambassador, someone to create ties between Noble’s group of survivors and this group of well-armed, well-organised people who had control of the city.

Marvin, too, wanted to stay behind. Not because of the Pacifists; he had made it quite plain he could not care less whether he was with them or not. No, it was Mayik he was fascinated by, Mayik whose company he sought. Noble seemed even more reluctant to allow that. Despite her dismissal of magic, she could appreciate the benefits it had given them. That was her argument, of course, and had made Marvin turn red and smug, but Harry smiled. She would also lose a friend if he stayed behind, and it was just as obvious that despite their quarrels, she cared much for him. Eventually, they reached a compromise. He would come back with them now - and once everything was alright, they could contact Mayik again. “And maybe he’ll come and see us, as well,” she said, hopeful. “He said he wasn’t part of the Pacifists.”

Mayik was on the other side of the room, his black wizard robe standing out between all of the colours, but Harry had the feeling he had heard that last sentence, because just at that moment he smiled and raised his glass, as well.

And soon they were on their way, on the bridges, back to the city, through the tunnels... but when they finally got back to the camp, Noble didn’t cross the last tunnel into the great theatre.

“What’s wrong?” the Doctor asked.

She looked uncomfortable. “Listen, Doctor... don’t take this the wrong way...”

He looked at her without comprehension. But Harry had a feeling he knew what this was about.

“It’s not about credit. I would happily give you all the credit you deserve for what you did - all of it, actually. You deserve all of it. Without you, we would never have found the Pacifists, or had a chance to fight, or stop them. I want you to understand this. This isn’t about me looking bad.”

“It’s about faith,” Harry said quietly, and Noble nodded. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re a myth here, Doctor. A legend. I don’t think Noble wants her people to learn to rely too heavily on legends to come and rescue them every time things get tough.”

“That’s the second time already,” she said, half joking, half serious. “We can’t really spend the next crisis waiting for you to show up.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, his eyebrow still raised.

“Maybe. But we can’t count on it.”

The Doctor nodded. He didn’t seem to mind, except that he needed his Tardis.

“I’ll distract them,” Polly said, and left the tunnel into the room. He had told them Noble was still far, far behind, and no one thought to remain and see if this was wrong. It wasn’t two minutes before the room was empty. For the first time in their lives, the refugees went out to the sunshine without fear.

The Doctor, Harry, Marvin and Noble climbed into the theatre. The comparison to the Pacifists’ base was painful to Harry. Everywhere he looked, he could see the signs of those people who had clung on to dear life: the laundry lines, full of torn rags, the dirt had become so much a part of them that it could no longer be washed out; the big pots, in which a mash of something that smelled dreadful was being cooked, the same food time and again, the only thing these people could afford; a whole life, stored away in boxes, in this small, stinking place. He sneaked a look at the Doctor, and realised that the Time Lord was also surveying the room, but not with pity - he was looking around in pride.

And why not, really? Life will out. These people had survived all this time, and now, finally, things would get better. He wanted to find them and tell them that, even though they surely already knew. He wanted them to be here, to see the Doctor, to thank him for what he has done. But he knew Noble was right. And here they were, the four of them, in this abandoned room.

“Well then,” the Doctor turned to Noble.

“Well then,” she echoed his words, slightly lost.

“How old are you, anyway?” Harry all of a sudden asked. He wasn’t quite sure why it was important.

She raised an eyebrow. “Twenty five,” she answered. For the first time in the two days he knew her, she looked it, too, beaming at them in relief.

“Looks like you’ve got all your life ahead of you,” the Doctor said warmly.

“I suggest you start by going to sleep,” Harry gave her a tip from his own experience. “Nothing better to realise how good things have become than after a good sleep.”

“And you would know,” she said doubtfully.

He laughed. These people had hope now, and were free, and had their entire future ahead of them, and the forest had never seemed so far away in two months. “A bit, yeah.”

“It’s a good advice,” the Doctor chimed in. “And we’d better let you sleep.”

He walked to the Tardis, and pulled a small key from his pocket. The door of the Tardis opened, and Noble couldn’t help but sneak another look inside, into the room that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Harry followed him.

“Doctor,” she called suddenly, and both of them stopped in place. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Will I - will we see you again?”

“Oh, Noble,” he said, and there was a strange quality to his voice, sounding slightly choked. “I hope you never have to.”

She nodded, and smiled, even if she didn’t think it was as good a thing as the Doctor had just suggested.

“Goodbye,” he said, and went into the blue box.

“Goodbye,” Harry echoed. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Goodbye,” she said, and Marvin gave him a wave and a smile. Harry smiled back. They would be alright, he thought as he walked into the blue box and closed the door behind him. The Tardis flashed in and out of existence, and eventually disappeared. The room went quiet.

“C’mon,” Noble said to Marvin. “Time to start working. If you think you’ve had a lot to do until now...” she gave him a menacing look. There would be no rest for a long time, that much was obvious. But Marvin didn’t mind. As he smiled back, his hand patted his beard and was then sent absent-mindedly to the golden chain around his neck, to touch the small hourglass hanging on it.


	8. Back to the Future (part 2, chapter 1)

The noise died out. Harry looked at the central column, going up and down, and then resting in place. The Doctor was leaning on the tree-like structure, hands deep within his pockets, looking at him.

“That’s it, then,” Harry said. “Home. It’s been...” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and Harry laughed. “Exciting. Fun. Great. It really has.”

The Doctor smiled for a moment. He was still shaken by his encounter with the Daleks, it was obvious. But Harry didn’t ask, didn’t urge the alien to talk. He would if he wanted to, Harry knew. He himself had been in that position more than once himself.

“Where did you bring me to, anyway?” he asked, if only to break the silence.

“Same place, oh, a couple of hours later,” the Doctor answered. “The Death Eaters will have gone by now. And the place would be full of Ministry wizards. Safest place for you - and I daresay they would be looking for you.”

“Come on, then,” Harry said. “They’ll never believe me without you.” The Doctor simply raised an eyebrow. “I mean it,” Harry insisted. “They might think Death Eaters had kidnapped me or something...”

The Doctor smiled again, and grabbed his coat. Harry opened the door of the Tardis and stepped outside.

A cold wind hit his face. Much colder than he expected, much colder than the morning he remembered, he was shivering as he looked for a jacket he didn’t have. Drops of rain hit his eyes, forcing him to blink several times. Next to him he could hear the Doctor coming out of the Tardis, but the freezing wind stopped him from turning back towards him.

It was dark now. Not an hour or two since the Doctor had picked him up then, but the whole day. Unless the Doctor got it wrong, the thought came to Harry’s mind, and it was a different day altogether.

“Harry,” he heard the Doctor whisper in his ear, “don’t move.” But Harry was already moving, taking the wand out of his pocket and murmuring ‘lumos’. A reassuring yellow light appeared at the tip of his wand, and he surveyed the darkness in front of him. For a moment, he didn’t recognise the place. Full of rubble and earth, it looked nothing like the lively garden he spent his mornings in. But as he moved his wand, lighting up the entire Square, he could see it was, indeed, the place he had left not so long ago, now ruined. He didn’t remember the Death Eaters destroying the small café, nor did he remember them burning the grass at his feet. But they must have, because the Square looked as if it had been through a war - or at least, a wizarding duel.

A soft rumble from one of the corners made him jump. He turned his wand towards the place, but it was only a fox, darting through the bushes. Harry breathed in relief.

“Must have scared the Muggles to death,” he said to the Doctor, but the Doctor was looking opposite that corner, at a dark mass lying on the ground. “No,” he said darkly, and started walking towards it, Harry following closely behind.

They didn’t need to go all the way for Harry to recognise the shape of the mass. He had seen this sort of thing more than once - a lifeless body, lying on the ground. He knew what it looked like by now.

“And no one called the police?” he said, incredulous, and rushed towards the body. It was a young man, not much older than himself. Must have been a student. His clothes were torn, but Harry could not tell whether they were like that before or after his death. There was a general rough look about him - long unkempt hair, bruises on his face, and a general air of malnourishment and hunger. But the body was unmarked, Harry noticed. No blood anywhere, no wounds. He looked like he had been hit by a curse.

The Doctor knelt before the body, and Harry was shocked to see that he was not touching the man gently, or checking for pulse, but rummaging through the pockets. “Doctor...” he started, but the Doctor ignored him. Harry saw him removing two galleons from a pocket, and after a while, fishing out a Muggle-like wallet.

“Doctor,” he started again, “what are you doing?”

“Look,” the Doctor, who had opened the wallet and went through its contents, handed Harry a document.

“Registrar's office,” Harry read aloud, then the man’s name - Tom Brooks - and address, and one more word. “Muggle. What is this?”

“Identification,” the Doctor said.

“But - “ Harry started, but the Doctor had already gone up and pointed all around him. “Look,” he said.

Harry looked. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but he tried to find it anyway. All around the Square he could see the buildings - the university to the left, followed by offices and hotels, then the shops, all barred and dark. “What time is it?” he asked at last, and when the Doctor didn’t answer, cast the appropriate spell. Seven o’clock. Hardly late enough for this darkness. Definitely not late enough for the shops to be closed and the streets to be abandoned. And now Harry really noticed. Not a soul walked down the streets, from the busy tube station towards the shopping centre or down, towards the centre and life of the city itself. Not a car went down the road, or a bus. The university building to the left wasn’t just dark, it was abandoned. In the darkness, he could imagine he saw a part of it had collapsed upon itself, making it impossible to enter.

“When are we?” he whispered.

“The same day I picked you up,” the Doctor said.

“That’s impossible.”

“And yet, here we are. Let’s go.” The Doctor set to leave, but stopped when Harry called him to wait. He threw a glance at the fox, still hiding behind the bush, and knelt again next to the dead body, brandishing his wand. Tom Brooks became smaller and smaller, retreating into itself, and changed colour - bluer and bluer it became, then a bright shade of green. And now it attached itself to the ground, and where a body lay not a minute ago a small flower stood, lonely in the darkness.

“Let’s go.”

Much like the Square, the streets were dark and abandoned. A thick blanket of clouds covered the skies, blocking any light that could have made their walk a bit more pleasant. They walked in silence, hiding in the shadows whenever a noise was heard - but it was never a human voice, only stray cats or birds going past. No cars passed their way, even as they reached the main road. Only then, next to the train station, did they see light - the shopping centre next to the station seemed to be as lively as usual. Voices could be heard, shouting and singing in drunk euphoria. Harry started in the direction, but the Doctor put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, signalling him to stay behind, and his finger on his lips. As Harry nodded, the Doctor pointed ahead: a group of people has left the station, walking towards them noisily. They were all big, muscly, and all were carrying wands. One of them used his wand to blast a hole in the pavement every once in a while. And above them, a woman was hovering. She was bounced lightly by the wand-carriers: once, twice, up and down, from the pavement to several feet in the air.

“We have to help her!” Harry whispered and started to move, but the Doctor’s hand grabbed him tightly.

“She’s already dead,” he said, sadly. As the group got closer, Harry could see he was right. The woman was not moving, her limbs completely limp and her eyes open wide, unblinking. Blood trickled from her mouth and from the corner of her eyes.

Then something else caught his attention: a small kiosk was standing in the corner of the street, well lit-up, a bored man sitting beside it. The sign above could be read clearly: The Daily Prophet. Harry started going towards it but the Doctor shook his head; he pulled the two galleons he took from Brooks’ pocket, then put his hands in his pocket and started walking towards the newsagent, whistling loudly.

“Good evening,” he greeted the seller cheerfully. Harry could hear a grunt in return. “Yeah, I’ll have the Evening Prophet and... oh, Bertie Botts. I love them. Don’t you?” The Doctor’s voice could be heard loud and clear in the silence around.

It wasn’t five minutes before the Doctor was back. Harry made to grab the paper, not even asking how was it possible that a wizard newspaper was sold in the middle of a Muggle street, but the Doctor shook his head. “Not here,” he whispered. They walked back, again in silence. But the Doctor didn’t lead them towards the Tardis. Instead, they entered a large bookshop, dark and empty, its door wide-open. Harry cast a light around here and there, reading the names of the books, but none of those he managed to read sounded familiar. Most of them, however, had been impossible to decipher - they were either covered with a thick layer of soot, or a thick layer of dust - sometimes both. In the second floor, amongst cast-away dictionaries and French poetry books, they finally settled, as far away as possibke from a suspicious dark crimson stain on the floor. Harry, now shivering from the cold and rain, aimed his wand at a pile of books and whispered the incantation. A jolly fire burst, casting light and shadows all around them. He then sat down on the floor in front of the Doctor, who was already comfortably sat on the Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd edition, and started nibbling on his Bertie Botts’ beans. “Want one?” he asked, and when Harry shook his head - amazed at his ability to eat - he pulled out the paper. “Read it,” he gave it to Harry.

The first thing Harry checked was the date. The Doctor was right - they were in the right day, the right year. But nothing was the same. He had read the Prophet that morning: the headlines talked of sporadic Death Eater attacks, Malfoy’s trial and some lavish theories about his relationship to Kingsley. This was all different: a new Muggle registry scheme, the re-location of Hogwarts, and - “Potter sighted in Devon, Aurors have been alerted?!” he read aloud in disbelief. “Doctor, what the hell do they mean - “

“I don’t know. I think we can guess, though.”

“There’s Muggle films like this, aren’t there? Is this one of those alternate realities where - “

“Yes and no.”

Harry looked at the Doctor questioningly.

“Alternate realities are sealed off. There is an infinite number of different realities, but you can’t just travel from one to the other.”

“But we didn’t just travel,” Harry pointed out. “We were in the Tardis.”

“Still. Not possible. We would have noticed. The Tardis can’t work in other universes, for one thing. It would have died. Shut down. Different laws of physics.”

“But how can this be our reality? None of these things ever happened, Muggles aren’t being controlled by the Ministry, and my dad is...” Harry stared again at the newspaper. Next to the headline was a picture - a wanted poster. His father’s face looked at him from that poster, his messy black hair so resembling Harry’s own, his entire face could have been mistaken for Harry’s if it weren’t for the eyes, and the slightly longer nose. And a prize of ten thousand galleons on his head.

“We travelled to the future,” he said slowly. “We can’t have influenced the past.”

“I wonder...” said the Doctor slowly, but Harry didn’t think of the Doctor’s maddening half-sentence. Instead, he looked again at the picture. His father was looking angry, seemed to have tried to walk out of the picture but couldn’t, so he just ended up standing there, making faces at the camera. And he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Sirius, and the caption underneath named a price of 5,000 Galleons on his godfather’s head.

“Whatever’s changed, obviously it was a long time ago, if my dad is - “ he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“Harry,” the Doctor said warningly. “Don’t.”

Harry nodded in silence, but still couldn’t tear his gaze from the newspaper.

“We need to get going,” the Doctor said. “C’mon, back to the Tardis. It could help us figure out what happened.” With a simple spell, the flames in front of them had died, taking back whatever light and warmth they gave with them. Wordlessly, both Harry and the Doctor got up and left the bookshop.

It wasn’t a long walk to the Tardis, but for Harry, it felt like eternity. They were walking in the dark, and he didn’t dare casting light with his wand, not after almost running into the Death Eaters. Every once in a while they stopped to hide in the shadows and listened to the silence.

But the trouble began only when they reached the garden. They were already walking through the open gates and towards the Tardis when they saw it was surrounded by four large men. Harry could see one of them aiming his wand at the door. It didn’t open, of course. The Earth-based magic could not penetrate its defences. But the fact remained that there was the Tardis, surrounded by people who were most likely Death Eaters, and here were they, unable to get through.

“Do you think they’ll get tired of it and go away?” he whispered to the Doctor.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Do you?” he asked. Harry shook his head. Of course he didn’t. They would wait there until more help would arrive. And then carry the Tardis somewhere else. “We need a distraction,” he said. The Doctor started aiming his sonic screwdriver, but Harry stopped him, showing him his wand.

“Can you do it quietly enough?” the Doctor whispered back. Harry hated to admit it, but he had a point - Harry had never mastered nonverbal spells. But he couldn’t let the Doctor risk himself - these were wizards, not aliens. “I’ll manage,” he said, and creeped towards another bush. Seconds later, he pointed his wand at a far-off corner of the garden, and whispered as quietly as he could, ‘Expecto Patronum.’ The silver stag came out of the tip of his wand and galloped towards the ruins of the café, but not before Harry had made his place known to the Death Eaters.

“Over there! Someone’s in there!” one of them shouted, and the advanced towards Harry. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, no longer trying to hide himself, and ducked just in time as one of them sent a spell in his direction. The wand of one of the wizards, however, had flown out of its master’s hand and into the darkness. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Doctor, now standing up, aiming his sonic screwdriver at another man - and was surprised to see the man’s wand flying high directly towards the Doctor. In his surprise, he almost missed the Death Eater closest to him, preparing to cast another spell.

“Stupify!” Harry shouted at the same time as the Doctor shouted “Expelliarmus”. Hit by both spells, the man keeled over on the path. The fourth Death Eater, now realising he was all alone, turned around and fled. Harry considered going after him, but the Doctor’s urgent call had changed his mind. He rushed towards the Tardis, its blue door now opened, the Doctor already inside. Breathing heavily, he entered the time machine, and closed the door behind him.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

“Do what?” the Doctor seemed to hardly register him, and instead pressed some dials in the Tardis controls.

“Disarm that Death Eater - you can use magic!”

“Well, yes,” the Doctor said.

“How?”

“It’s magic, it’s not - “ the Doctor seemed lost for words for a moment, and settled for “magic” awkwardly.

“What?”

“I mean, there is some science involved, even if you lot insist it’s all magic. It’s like I told you when we first met. Genetics. You have a gene that helps you manipulate the environment around you. It helps, but it’s not impossible to do it without it. Give a muggle a wand and fifty years to practice, and they could stun that man as well as you and I did.”

“Fifty years?”

“Give or take.”

“But you’re - “

“Older than I look,” the Doctor smiled. “It’s really not that hard once you get the hang of it - and I had plenty of time to practice.”

Harry realised he wasn’t going to get a better answer, not now. He turned then to more pressing matters. “What now?”

“Well, time has been changed, and we need to figure out how. And when.”

“So how are we going to do that? Can the Tardis figure these things out? Is there this archive-planet that registers changes in timelines?”

“Hmm,” the Doctor seemed to consider this, “that last one could be a good idea. Save a lot of trouble. But no, I think we’ll need to get answers from someone who was there when it happened. Luckily,” he smiled his mad smile, “I know just the man!” the next thing, the Doctor rushed to the central column and pressed a button. The Tardis’ central column went up and down with the familiar noise.

It wasn’t long until the engines died down again. Wherever they went, it wasn’t very far, either in time or in space. Or both, Harry mused, and then followed the Doctor, who was already jumping towards the door.

And then he found himself rooted to his place, halfway out of the Tardis, as a too familiar voice spoke. “I wondered whether you’d show up eventually,” said Albus Dumbledore. Harry could see him getting up and walking towards the Doctor, his arms open wide for a hug. “Doctor!”

“Albus,” the Doctor said in a happy voice, and jumped to hug the old wizard. Harry just stared at the two of them.

“And what impressionable young man or woman have you brought with you this time?” Dumbledore said, disengaging himself from the Doctor’s hug and turning to look at Harry, his smile immediately giving way to surprise. “James Po - “ and then he was silent, and walked towards Harry, facing him, but didn’t seem to dare move any closer.

“It’s Harry, Albus,” the Doctor said behind the old wizard. Dumbledore stretched a shaking hand to Harry, but didn’t embrace him. Instead, he brushed away his fringe, revealing Harry’s scar, touching it softly. Harry didn’t dare to say a word.

And all of a sudden, the moment was broken. Dumbledore’s surprised look, an expression Harry had never seen on his face, had vanished. Instead he smiled, that same cryptic, calm smile Harry new so well, while his eyes bore into Harry for just a little longer with the familiar x-ray sensation. He then took back his hand, and returned to sit in his chair. “So,” he asked, “how did I die, Mr. Potter?”

“Snape killed...” Harry could only mumble.

“Snape...” Dumbledore repeated, thoughtfully. “Was it on my orders - or his?”

“Sorry?”

“Voldemort’s, Harry! Did Snape kill me on my orders, or was it Voldemort’s idea?”

“Yours.”

Dumbledore’s face broke into an even bigger smile. “Good man,” he said, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he was talking of himself, or of Severus Snape.

“Professor...” he started asking, but Dumbledore cut across him.

“How old are you now, my boy?” Dumbledore asked.

“Eigh - eighteen, Sir?”

“Well, in that case, I think you’ve quite earned the right to call me ‘Albus’, don’t you?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at Harry from behind the half-moon spectacles.

“Sure,” Harry said, confused. He looked for a little longer at the old man, but soon had to blink away. It was still too painful. He still remembered that night on the Astronomy Tower only too well, the last time he had seen Dumbledore alive, his body falling... instead he tried to immerse himself in the room around him. They weren’t in Hogwarts - Harry wasn’t surprised. Based on the last year, he assumed that if Voldemort really had taken over everything, Hogwarts as well was his now. But still, they were in a sort of an office, that surprisingly resembled Dumbledore’s Hogwarts office. The portraits were missing, but apart from them, everything was as he remembered: the big desk, full of magical instruments whose purpose he had never learned; the books; the pensieve, out in the open, as apparently it had been used recently; But the picture was not complete as Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, was missing.

The Doctor, however, didn’t give much thought to the room, but instead sat on the desk and faced Dumbledore. “How did you know you were supposed to be dead?” he demanded.

“Incredible birds, phoenixes are,” Dumbledore mumbled, and Harry turned to look at him in surprise. “Extremely loyal. So, imagine my surprise one day, when Fawkes had left this room and disappeared. And never came back. And then, there was this,” he pointed at his wand - the Elder wand. “It hasn’t stopped working, obviously, but nevertheless... it isn’t working for me quite as well as before. Rather seemed like it had a new master, all of a sudden. Pity - I’ve grown to like it, after all these years,” Dumbledore added with a smile. “It took me a while, you see. It always does with this kind of a wand.”

“I think,” the Doctor said slowly, “you will find it works for Harry just fine.”

Harry looked from the Doctor to Dumbledore, but did not attempt to take the wand. Dumbledore, however, didn’t seem angry at all - in fact, he was delighted as he said “Does it really?” Harry didn’t answer.

“And yours, I suppose, is holly, eleven inches long, with a core of a phoenix tail feather?”

“Fawkes’s,” Harry confirmed, and offered the wand for Dumbledore to see. He took it gingerly, then put it on his desk, and his eye was shot again towards Harry’s lightning scar. “You look so much like your father,” he said eventually, with a sad smile on his face. “But your eyes...”

“Excuse me, Professor,” said Harry, stopping his old teacher from saying the words he had heard so many times before. But Dumbledore didn’t wait for him to say what was on his mind. He already knew, of course - he always seemed to know.

“You would want to know, I assume, what has happened to the world you know, or as you youngsters are prone to say, what the bloody hell is going on?” he asked, and Harry simply nodded.

“It starts, curiously enough, almost seven years ago. With the Philosopher’s Stone, that was hidden inside this school. I see you’ve heard of it,” he said, giving Harry a sharp look. Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. “You see, Harry, I believed my school was the safest place in the wizarding world, and that it was the one safe place for the Stone. Oh, we had various enchantments and spells to guard it. But I was a fool.

“It was Professor Quirrell. I had known he was connected - somehow - to Voldemort, but did not know how or why. I knew he would try to get the stone, but I trusted my spells. I was so clever,” he paused for a moment, and Harry was surprised to hear the bitterness in his voice. “So clever. There was every possibility Voldemort or his agent could penetrate the various obstacles put in his way to defend the stone, but no chance - none whatsoever - he could get past mine.

“But I underestimated one other person. Harry James Potter. I knew Harry had figured out that the stone was in the School, I knew that Harry and his friends had realised that Voldemort, much like themselves, was aware of it, and that he was going to try and take it. I thought it interesting,” he said in disgust, “to see how far young Mr. Potter and his little gang could get. I had underestimated Mr. Potter’s resourcefulness and determination - he had, after all, made it all the way to the Mirror of Erised. But I had also underestimated his kindness.

“You see, my clever little scheme, my wonderful piece of magic, my _brilliant idea_ relied on one assumption - that no one cunning enough or resourceful enough to get as far as the Mirror of Erised could do so without desiring the stone for themselves. And here lay my plan, for only - “

“ - Only one who wanted to find the stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it,” Harry repeated the words he had heard from that same man, all those years ago, staring at his hands, remembering that day as if it were yesterday.

“Yes, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Do you see the flaw in my plan? Voldemort couldn’t get it, Quirrell couldn’t get it... but you, who only wanted it to prevent Voldemort from taking it, you could. And so, I have sealed your fate.”

Harry now looked at Dumbledore, surprised. “Sealed my fate? But - “

“Voldemort, of course, had realised you had the stone almost as soon as it showed up in your pocket, and ordered his servant to take it from you. You had given a fair fight, of course, but you were no match for Quirrell, let alone Voldemort. Quirrell had killed you, and took the stone. By the time I got back, it was too late.”

“But that’s not what happened!” Harry protested. “Quirrell couldn’t touch me! Voldemort did order him to kill me, but I touched his face and he couldn’t bare it, he couldn’t kill me. It was the protection - you said! My mother had sacrificed herself to protect me from Voldemort, and...” his voice trailed off, as he saw the sad look in his old teacher’s face.

“Voldemort had heard a prophecy, so many years ago, about a boy who could be his downfall. He had gone after that boy, and killed his parents. He did not want to - but his parents, members of the Order of the Phoenix and fierce opponents of Voldemort and of everything he stood for, would not give up their only son, refused to save themselves for the price of their son’s life. That was old magic, Harry. It had saved that boy’s life.”

“I know,” said Harry irritably, not understanding why Dumbledore was repeating all of that, all he had known for years now. “My parents saved my life.”

“No, Harry. Those parents were Frank and Alice Longbottom. And Voldemort’s curse had rebounded on him, leaving a lightning-bolt scar on Neville Longbottom’s forehead.”


	9. Back to the Future (part 2, chapter 2)

“Neville?” Harry repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “It was only natural, of course. Voldemort was faced with the choice between two boys - one pure blood, with a family going back to the dawn of wizarding times; the other half-blood. Lily Evans, who was Muggle-born, could never have given her son the kind of power described by the prophecy, or so Voldemort believed, with his pure-blood mania.

“You can imagine, then, what had happened when you - or should I say, the young Mr. Potter - had encountered Quirrell: with no defence from Voldemort, he was easily murdered. And Voldemort had fled with the stone, before I got there. The look on James’ face that day...” his voice trailed, and stopped.

“Neville Longbottom was in the infirmary when they brought young Harry’s body. His scar had been itching for days - ever since Voldemort realised how to get to the stone, I’d imagine. Finally, Professor McGonnagall grew worried, and asked Madame Pomfrey to check it that night. He saw his friend’s lifeless body, Voldemort’s first murder since his own parents. Something changed in him that night. He became - a lot more like you, actually,” Dumbledore looked at Harry with his so-familiar piercing eyes, but the sadness in them could not be ignored. “He became more reckless, more daring. He had realised the danger he was in, or perhaps, was reminded of its existence. And he was determined to live. Two years later, when he was standing in front of Voldemort in duel, the thirteen-year-old boy had decided to fight, for Harry Potter as much as his parents, I believe.”

“And the wands connected, and he was saved,” said Harry, and Dumbledore’s eyes were, once again, so sad, as they were drawn back to the holly wand. He took it again, passed his hand over it once, twice, then put it on the desk between them. “Doctor?” he asked.

Harry jumped. He had completely forgotten the Doctor was in the room, leaning on the Tardis now, behind the two of them. “Ah,” he said.

“I believe you could explain this better than I ever could, having only a part of the picture? I could guess, of course... but I believe our young Mr. Potter here deserves the full answer.”

The Doctor pulled up a chair and sat next to harry, taking the holly wand in his hands. “Wands are... a different kind of magic. They say in the wizarding world, I believe, that the wand chooses the wizard?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.

“Yes. You asked me before about time travel - “

“ - Much like myself at the time, I believe,” Dumbledore smiled.

The Doctor nodded. “Exactly like you, Albus. You’d be surprised - anyway, better not talk about that. But you asked me about time travel, how can I be sure nothing important changes. Time is not what you think it is. The universe is much cleverer than either of us. It can compensate, most of the time. Oh, there might be small changes here and there, the small details, but the essentials, the real progress of time, that stays the same, no matter the details.

“Except sometimes it doesn’t. These are small moments, precious moments, and if you change them, no matter what happens, Time can’t compensate. It’ll try - but that often just makes things worse.” The Doctor offered the wand back to Harry. “Your parents’ death is one of those moments, Harry.

“Now wands! - wands are a different kind of magic. They go by what should be, not what is. In order to exploit those elements of the universe that allow your magic to happen, they are fine tuned to the universe. Just the way it is, can’t be helped. So when Voldemort killed Neville’s parents instead of yours - whatever caused that to happen - the wand wasn’t affected. The wand didn’t _know_ you were not the Chosen One. So it chose you anyway. Even though by rights it should have been Neville’s in this timeline, as Voldemort’s choice had connected the both of them. Neville, then, took his father’s wand?” The Doctor turned a questioning eye towards Dumbledore, who nodded.

“And this just made everything worse. You were still the one to find the Philosopher’s Stone, not Neville, but without the protection - and the phoenix-and-holly wand not being very helpful in the hands of an eleven-years-old against Quirrell, rather than Voldemort... you died. And Neville, when facing Voldemort, did not have the protection of the twin cores. He was brave, oh yes,” and Dumbledore’s eyes were full of tears, “and fought all the way through. But he never stood a chance. A thirteen-year-old against a wizard as ruthless and as terrible as Voldemort...

“And so, Neville Longbottom had died, and together with him died our best hope against Voldemort,” said Dumbledore heavily. “And, having killed the one danger he was aware of, Voldemort had continued taking over the Ministry and the rest of the wizarding world. I myself was not there when he had taken the final steps. Travelling, to find the key to destroy him, I was not around to stop him at the most critical moment. And after that, I dared not contact those who were still alive. I cannot protect all those who would find themselves in danger, you see, once associated with me. There have been some of us fighting ever since, but our numbers are falling every day. We are hunted down, wanted, betrayed by all but our closest friends. We dare not meet, because the capture of one of us would then mean terrible danger to the rest. It is impossible for me to help any more if I’m dead, and while it would certainly be a feat to capture me, if I dare say so myself, it is not beyond Voldemort’s powers,” he looked again at the Elder wand, “especially now. I do what I can, of course. I have not given up. But it is far from enough. In short, Harry, in every way but in the hearts of precious few, the war is over. Voldemort has won.”

“No!” Harry jumped, shocked at hearing these words from Dumbledore’s mouth. Dumbledore, who always had a plan. Dumbledore, who was so wise and clever and always knew what to do. Dumbledore, who was willing to sacrifice everything and everyone to finish off Voldemort. He could not believe he was hearing these words.

But the Doctor didn’t seem too impressed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll just have to change things back,” he said brightly.

“Ah. I was afraid we might run into this little snag,” Dumbledore said, and the Doctor raised his eyebrows. “I realise someone must have changed the timeline, but I’m afraid I have no idea who did it, or when things have changed.”

“How can you not know?” the Doctor asked, surprised.

“I could ask you the same thing. But there is someone who would.”

“Well - two someones.”

“If you insist on being accurate,” Dumbledore said, amused, “then surely there are three? And yet, only one of them can be helpful for us.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry interrupted the conversation, no longer able to stop himself. “Whenever you feel like sharing...”

“I see we have rather upset our young Mr. Potter. Forgive me, Harry. I am an old man, and hope is such a scarce commodity these days. From your story, it is obvious something - some _one_ \- has changed the timeline, and that had resulted in Voldemort taking over, rather than being defeated. This is why the Doctor has brought you here, I’m afraid, rather than to give me one last opportunity for a thrilling conversation. However, I cannot help you. You need to identify the exact moment of interference, and that is one thing I simply do not know.”

“Who does know, then?” Harry asked.

“Why, I thought the answer would be obvious, at least for you.”

“Snape.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Severus had been in Voldemort’s inner circle for years. He would know what his reaction to the prophecy had been, and if it had changed, he would know how and why.”

“So ask him! I’m assuming he’s spying for you here as well?”

“I’m afraid it is not so easy.”

“It never is, is it?” Harry asked bitterly, and Dumbledore smiled sadly.

“No, Harry, I suppose it never is.” His eyes wandered again towards the scar, but then returned to rest on Harry’s own eyes. “You really do have Lily’s eyes. Severus Snape has, indeed, betrayed Voldemort. But communication with a known outlaw such as myself, now that Voldemort’s men are in control of everything, is hard to achieve. Severus knows his part of the plan, I know mine. We are both working on achieving our goals, but I am afraid that we cannot communicate but on the rarest of occasions. It had been over a year since I last heard from him; I do not expect to do so for at least another year. I cannot send him a message.”

Harry swallowed. “We would have to go there ourselves.”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case, we need some way of transforming Harry,” the Doctor jumped. “He looks too much like his father, and - “

“That, actually, might play to your benefit,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Voldemort wants James alive. He is pure blood, after all: Voldemort still hopes to convert him to his cause. He is reluctant to spill the blood of the last member of a family such as the Potters, who go back to the Peverells themselves - much like Voldemort’s own ancestry. If Harry can be mistaken for James, it would buy you precious time.”

“But the scar...”

“We’ll just have to wing it,” Harry said, determined.

Dumbledore smiled. “Like I said, Harry, I have once already underestimated your determination and resourcefulness - not again. And the Doctor has abilities that put my own to shame - not to mention secrets,” he winked at the Time Lord. “You would make a fine team.”

“We already did,” said the Doctor with a smile, and got up. Harry did the same.

“I do believe,” said Dumbledore, “this is yours?” he handed him the Elder wand.

Harry did not reach to take it. He looked at it, then at Dumbledore, and shook his head. “This is my wand,” he said and picked up the holly wand.

“Take it,” the Doctor said. Harry turned towards him in surprise. “We’re going to need Snape on this one, Harry. He wouldn’t help us unless he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt we come from Dumbledore.”

“And believe me, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled whimsically, “for my kind of magic, no wand is necessary, if I may say so myself. Also, if you are successful, I believe I won’t be needing it much longer.”

Harry stared at him hard, not wishing to hear those words, but eventually nodded. He knew the old wizard was right. “I’m still going to use mine, though,” he said.

“Very well. Perhaps it is time for the yew wand to meet its brother,” Dumbledore said, and stretched his hand to shake Harry’s. Harry took it nervously, marvelling at feeling those old hands again. “Doctor,” the old man turned to the Time Lord, “I do believe this is our last meeting?”

“Oh, we’ll meet again,” the Doctor said in a light-hearted, dismissive tone, but his eyes lacked the spark that Harry had learned to associate with them.

“I don’t think so,” Dumbledore said, and his eyes did sparkle, just like Harry remembered them. “I’m an old man, Doctor - not quite as old as you, but getting there. I think I would welcome the chance for peace.”

The Doctor nodded, but said nothing, and the old wizard took him and hugged him. “Farewell, old friend,” he said softly, “and good luck.”

Harry and the Doctor walked towards the Tardis. Harry couldn’t help but sneak one last peek at his old teacher, who was still standing there, a smile on his face. “Sir...” he started saying, but didn’t quite know what to say.

“In whatever reality, I am proud of you, Harry,” Dumbledore said. Harry nodded and walked inside, afraid he would be unable to continue if he lingered much longer. Inside the Tardis, the Doctor was already pressing buttons and preparing their next destination, but without the energy Harry learned to expect from him. He stood there for a while, watching the Doctor, in silence.

“Ready?” the Doctor asked at last. Harry blinked back the tears, and nodded. “Off we go then. Next stop: Death Eater Central!”

They didn’t land directly in Voldemort’s headquarters. For one thing, as the Doctor had pointed out, they didn’t really want to bring the Tardis straight into the wands of Dark wizards. “Personally,” the Doctor said dryly, “I’d prefer not to run into Voldemort unless I really have to.” Harry nodded. He, too, would have preferred to never see again the snake-like face. Not if he had the choice.

Another reason, as the Doctor wisely said, was that Voldemort’s wizards were bad enough without giving them the chance to handle a time machine. “Can they enter the Tardis?” Harry asked incredulously, only to get the answer that they shouldn’t but the Doctor didn’t really want to test that theory.

“Wait,” Harry said as he remembered all of a sudden his last experience with Voldemort’s headquarters, “how would we get _in_ without the Tardis? The defences are bound to be impossible - I mean, without Hermione to - “

“Defences?” the Doctor looked at him, surprised.

“Surely Voldemort isn’t going to just let anyone in?”

The Doctor looked thoughtful for a moment. “You heard Dumbledore,” he said quietly. “The war is over. Voldemort has won. You know him better than anyone - what would he do?”

Harry thought for a moment about Voldemort’s downfall: his arrogance, his dismissal of others, his conviction that fear of him was enough to keep everyone under his power indefinitely. The only person he’s ever feared was Dumbledore - but Dumbledore, by his own admission, had been hiding for years. “He wouldn’t put any defences,” Harry said, “or nothing serious, at least. He wouldn’t even imagine anyone attacking him directly. Random attacks on Death Eaters, yes, but not right at his headquarters. He wouldn’t expect that. He probably thinks it’s the safest place for him in the entire world.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it?” Harry asked.

“Probably,” the Doctor answered. “Except! You’re dead, aren’t you. And you’ve never been his rival, that was Neville. And he’s dead, too,” the Doctor added sadly. “That’s our one chance, really. He can’t even imagine the danger from you.”

“And you,” Harry smiled at him.

“And me,” the Doctor agreed. “Now, let’s go save the world!”

“So where exactly did we land?” Harry remembered all of a sudden his original question.

“About 2 kilometres away from Voldemort’s home - I think you might know it as the Malfoy Manor. He liked it so much he decided to stay there for good, I believe.”

“Bet the Malfoys loved that,” Harry muttered, and the Doctor chuckled.

“As much as you can imagine. C’mon,” he whispered and opened the door of the Tardis. Harry stepped out after him. He had thought the wind was cold inside the city, but now realised it was merely chilly. Here in the woods, it was freezing. His teeth began to chatter almost immediately. His clothes - still moist from the London rain - felt cold and sticky, and made his shivering even stronger. He tried to remember a useful little spell Hermione taught him just months before to repel the cold, but it was as if his brain had shut down. He could not remember the incantation - and anyway, he felt like he would be unable to say it clearly enough, or even move his wand.

And then, all of a sudden, everything became warmer. For a second he though perhaps the Doctor had used that spell on him, but then remembered the alien was as good as a Muggle: no wand, no magic. And then he realised what had happened - the Doctor had wrapped Harry with his long brown coat.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” he asked as soon as he could get his teeth to stop chatter and his frozen facial muscles to move the way he ordered them.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve been to planets much colder than this!”

Harry wasn’t quite sure he was convinced, but he was too grateful for the sudden warmness that he didn’t question the Doctor much. Besides, the Doctor didn’t seem to be shivering at all, but kept on walking in his excited, energetic way, the way he always did. By now Harry realised most of it was for show, but if the Doctor still had energy for his pretence, then he sure as hell wasn’t freezing.

Harry was sure that with this cold, and so close to Voldemort’s headquarters, the Doctor’s chatterbox tendencies would be toned down, just a bit. He proved to be terribly wrong.

“Oh, I know this forest!” he said. “I think I got lost here once. I was trying to get to Stonehenge, you see. Have you ever been to Stonehenge? Brilliant place. Especially at sunrise.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled.

“I once took a friend there. Long story. It was quite brilliant, mind! Also, there are tales that something is hidden there. Something terrible and - are you listening?” He stopped to look at Harry.

“Look, Doctor, no offence, but wouldn’t it be better to walk in silence? So, you know, we aren’t caught by Death Eaters?”

“Nah. The Death Eaters probably don’t patrol this far into the woods. And besides, talking is fun! There’ll be plenty of time to worry in silence later.” There was a spark of humour in his eyes, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. He got used to the Doctor chatting all the time, he didn’t consider the possibility it wasn’t for himself he was talking.

“Thanks,” he muttered, “but I still think that - “

The Doctor never got to hear what Harry thought, as at that moment they heard a terrible scream. Looking at each other for just a fleeting moment, both immediately started running towards the scream. They didn’t lose their way - the scream continued on and on. As they got closer, they could tell it was a terrible, heart-wrenching sob. It was not the pain of physical torture that brought on this scream, in the dark forest.

They arrived there, eventually. At the foot of Voldemort’s headquarters, what used to be the Malfoy Manor, there stood a row of simple tents in the edge of the forest, tents that seemed to be more improvised shelters than any tent Harry had seen before. They certainly looked nothing like the wizarding tents he had spent too much of his time in. These were ripped pieces of sheets, filthy and wet, some of them flipping in the winds, and looking as if they were useless against anything but the most timid breeze. Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of the people of Messaline, but this camp was completely different. Whatever signs of society or home that existed on Messaline were missing here. There was no merry fire for cooking and heating; no laundry was tied between one tent and its neighbour; no soup was slowly cooking in the corner - and no guards were stationed at the edge of the camp. This was not a place people came to live, or even hide, trying to work a resistance - this was a place of people who were already defeated, who had lost hope, and now stayed to do their new masters’ bidding.

Voldemort’s wizards must have required Muggles nearby for something, or they would not have let them camp so near. Experiments? Amusement? Manual labour? Harry didn’t know. But it was obvious they were there at the wizards’ wish. Harry could see tall figures patrolling the camp, sending curses at will. A second later, a tent was engulfed in flames, its residents fleeing, not daring to say a word or even look at their tormentors.

“Tell the old man he should be happy we’re not burning down his tent,” they could hear one of the Death Eaters sneering at the fleeing people. They then went back to the gates of the big manor house, waving their wands. A flicker in the air was visible for a moment, and they walked inside the gates in line, one after the other, careful to step through at the exact same place. As soon as they walked in, the air settled back around them.

There are defences! Harry mouthed at the Doctor, and the Doctor looked back at him grimly. They would need to find a way past these guards, Harry knew. He might be able to defeat the spells protecting the Manor - after all, Voldemort didn’t seem to use anything as complicated as the Fidelius Charm, and Harry did read of some pretty cool spells lately, preparing for his exams. But the guards’ entry had been revealing - if there was a single place the defences were likely to break, that they were likely to get in, it was exactly through the gate, in the exact same place the two guards have just did. He pointed at the gate, and the Doctor nodded. He had seen it too, realised what it meant. That was their spot - but at this moment, that spot was guarded by two Death Eaters. What are we going to do? Harry mouthed at the Doctor again, who in turn pointed at one of the tents. Inside, what seemed like a weak torch was flickering, showing the silhouettes of two people, one of them lying on the ground motionless, the other crouching beside the body, his screams turned into sobs.

“Come on,” the Doctor whispered, and the two of them walked as quietly as they could, always remaining on the edge of the forest, but getting closer and closer to the tent. Eventually, as they were right on top of the tent, the Doctor lifted the badly fastened sheet, and they looked inside.

An old man was sobbing over what seemed to be the body of a young woman. She was lying limp, unmoving, her red hair spread on the dirt. The man was holding her hand, mumbling something between the tears.

“Donna,” the Doctor gasped in surprise - but too loudly. The man turned around, suspicious, and quickly enough located the two intruders.

“I warn you,” he said in an unconvincing tone, “I’m armed!”

“It’s okay,” the Doctor said softly, “Wilf, it’s okay, we’re here to help!”

“Who are you?” the old man - Wilf - asked suspiciously, not dropping his guard, but all the time holding the young woman’s hand. His gaze stayed on Harry for a while. “I know you, don’t I? Who are you?”

“I’d the Doctor. I’m a friend.”

“Some friend,” Wilf muttered, and Harry followed his gaze, that was still firmly set on himself - at the wand he was still holding in his hand. “Wizards. Them wizards are the ones who did that to her, who did that to my Donna...” he turned again to the woman, broken hearted - and Harry realised with a jolt of surprise that he knew her: she was the woman from the Doctor’s memories, the red-headed woman Noble was named after. And yet, she was so different. The woman in the memory was happy, vivacious, vibrant. She was laughing as she was foiling the Daleks’ plan. This woman was younger, but much thinner, black bags under her eyes, even unconscious she did not seem peaceful, but afraid.

“What’s wrong with her?” the Doctor asked gently, entering the tent and getting closer to both Muggles. Harry entered the tent as well, but stayed behind, wary of seeing the old man’s gaze again.

“They’ve cursed her, that’s what’s wrong with her! She was getting food - and they found her - and did something to her! My Donna!”

The Doctor knelt now close to the woman. “She’s still alive,” he said, putting his hand on her neck. “Come on, Donna, you’re strong, you can beat it!” But the woman didn’t move.

“Harry!” he called then. “Can you tell me what they hit her with?”

Harry looked doubtfully at the old man. “I’m not sure it would be the best thing if I - “

“Oh, shut up and get here,” the Doctor said, uncharacteristically blunt. Harry moved deeper inside the tent, trying to ignore the old man’s suspicious look, and aimed his wand at the woman.

“It’s alright, Wilf. It’s alright. He’s not going to hurt her,” the Doctor tried to calm the old man down, while Harry tried to remember that useful little spell that could give him a better indication of the curse Donna was hit with. He gave up, eventually; this was one of those times he could really use Hermione. Instead, he just muttered “Finite incantatem,” hoping he could just lift the curse - but he wasn’t surprised when she failed to wake up. It never did help against dark magic.

“We’re losing her,” the Doctor said warningly, pressing the woman’s hand. “Donna!” he called again, as if his voice could miraculously make her better.

Harry looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Harry!” There was now urgency in the Doctor’s voice, almost panic.

“Salvio Hexia! Portego! Rennervate!” At that last spell, Donna seemed to hold still for a moment, and then let out a long breath. Her pale face become just a little bit redder. “Rennervate?” Harry repeated in surprise.

“Whatever it is, she’s better,” the Doctor said, relieved.

Wilf kept kneeling next to Donna, muttering her name. “She’s getting warmer, Doctor!” he called. “She’s getting better!”

“Thanks,” the Doctor said.

“Don’t mention it,” Harry answered, not sure he deserved the credit.

Now that Donna was getting better, Wilf could turn for a moment and face the Doctor and Harry. “What do you want then?” he asked defiantly - not the voice Harry expected.

“We just wanted to help,” he mumbled, but that didn’t seem to appease the old man.

“Oh, yeah? And since when do wizards want to help Muggles?” he seemed to spit the word. “Eh? Since when do you care?”

“It’s not... we’re not all like...”

“Well, could have fooled me.”

“When did this happen, Wilf? When did it start? Wizards taking over everything?” the Doctor asked, and Wilf stared at him as if he was mad.

“Well, you was here, don’t you know?”

“It’s...” the Doctor sneaked a glance at Harry, “ - complicated.”

“Well it was four years ago, that’s when it started, didn’t it. At first there was a lot of killings, see, but no one new how they happened. People murdered in a locked room. Then - _he_ \- “ Wilf seemed to spit the word, and Harry had no doubt who he was talking about - “showed up. Said wizards now are going to take control. They’ve been in hiding all this time, now time for us to serve them.”

“Four years ago...” the Doctor pondered. “That’s good.”

“How is that good?!” Both Harry and Wilf demanded at the same time, but the Doctor only answered Harry’s question. “It means there’s only the... event we’ve learned of. Or a higher likelihood of only that event. Being changed, that is. We don’t have to start chasing a thousand different threads. It’s good.”

Harry shrugged. He couldn’t see how any of this could be considered good. Wilf seemed to have the same thought. “Nothing good about it. You know how it is, with magic. Can’t really resist them, can we? Or they curse us,” he looked down again at his granddaughter. “That’s what she was doing, Donna. Never listened to anyone, that’s her.”

The Doctor smiled a nostalgic smile. “And she’d give you hell if you didn’t listen to her,” he said.

Wilf looked at him sharply. “You know her then, my Donna? How come I’ve never met you before?”

“That’s a - long story,” the Doctor seemed uncomfortable. “But she’s brilliant,” tears seemed to come to his eyes, “absolutely brilliant.”

“And I can’t protect her against the wizards.” The old man sounded heart-broken.

“But why are you here?” Harry asked. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Everywhere’s dangerous if you’re a Muggle, boy.”

“But right on top of Voldemort!”

The old man jumped. “What d’ya say his name for? What d’ya go and say his name for?”

“Sorry...” Harry mumbled.

“What kind of a wizard are you, anyway?”

“One who has a chance to stop this,” the Doctor said quietly. “But we’re going to need your help, Wilf.”

“My help?”

The Doctor looked uncomfortable. “We can defeat him, we can stop everything - it would be like it never happened. But in order to do that, we’re going to need to enter his headquarters, Wilf. We need to enter the Malfoy Manor.”

“You can’t,” Harry said, realising what the Doctor was talking about. “They’d kill him.”

“Not necessarily,” the Doctor said.

“You want me to be the distraction?” Wilf asked slowly.

“We thought it won’t be protected, we thought Vol - You-Know-Who - would be too arrogant to keep defences,” Harry said apologetically.

“That’s how it used to be,” said Wilf darkly. “Didn’t use to think there would be anyone with guts enough to go after him.”

“And then what happened?”

“Potter tried to break in. Barely got out. We saw him running over there, in the forest, until he could Apparate again.”

“Potter?!” Harry jumped.

“Don’t you two know anything? You’re very... odd, the both of you. James Potter! Even us Muggles know his name. He and his friend, Black, they’re trying to get rid of him. Most wanted man in the world, I reckon.”

“Good for him,” Harry said proudly.

But Wilf’s face didn’t seem to share the admiration Harry felt at that moment for his father. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “He killed a lot of us Muggles, too. Trying to kill You-Know-Who. He doesn’t seem to care who gets in his way as long as he takes him down. Some say he’s just as bad. I know he’s trying to do good. They say his wife was a Muggle, too. I know he tries to make things better for us, in the long run. But where we’re standing, he’s not doing us any favours. Fifty Muggles were killed the last time he confronted You-Know-Who. Then the wizards killed another 200 as punishment. Trying to get him to hand himself over, see. But he didn’t. Right now, they don’t seem that different, Potter and - _him_.” He looked at Harry for a moment. “Funny. You really look like him.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say.

“But I’ll help you.” Harry looked at the old man in surprise. “Not for me, for my Donna. She deserves better. I don’t want her to live in a world like this. Under the wizards. Maybe you’re lying. Maybe you’re here for him, checking on us, seeing if your nice little Muggles are trustworthy. I don’t know. But I can’t stay here and miss my opportunity to make sure Donna gets to live in a better world.”

“She will,” the Doctor promised.

“You just better be right. So what do you want me to do?”

The Doctor looked at Harry, then back at Wilf.

“What? What is it?”

“We can’t exactly - tell you the plan,” the Doctor said uncomfortably.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re going to need you to distract the guards,” Harry said plainly.

“Well,” Wilf said, partly joking and partly panicking, “I think if I went up there I’d be in enough danger, it can’t be worse for me if I know what you two are planning, can it?”

The Doctor didn’t answer. In the end, it was Harry who cleared up his throat. “You’re a Muggle, Wilf, they’re probably going to kill you either way,” he said.

“Well, what is it then?!” Wilf demanded.

“They can... read your mind, sort of, not exactly, but... sort of.”

“It’s not my safety you’re worried about.”

“No,” Harry confessed.

“Wizards,” he muttered. “Well, I’ll give you that, at least you’re honest. You could have lied. Better go, then, tell me where to go and where to draw them to, yeah?”

“Wait,” Harry said. “We need to get everyone out of here first. If we fail, they better not be around.”

“We’re not going to fail,” the Doctor said in fake cheerfulness.

“But just in case...”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Wilf said, “they would be able to find us. We can’t get far enough.”

The Doctor looked at Harry. It was obvious they both had the same idea.

“What?” asked Wilf.

 

 

It took a while for Harry to take the entire residents of the camp far enough for them to be safe. Apparition was an art he had only mastered in the past year - and now he was going back and forth, taking Muggles with him, afraid of being caught, tripping alarms or being identified by Death Eaters. By the time only Donna and Wilf remained, he felt completely exhausted. But they couldn’t afford exhaustion. They didn’t have time to rest. As he walked towards the tent, he saw the Doctor carrying Donna, who was stirring ever so lightly in his hands, but still not awake.

“Make sure she’s going to be alright,” the old man urged him, following the Doctor to the Apparition spot.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe, with people who would take care of her,” Harry promised. He then took her, not in his hands like the Doctor, but supporting the unconscious woman, and turned on the spot, slightly unbalanced. He didn’t take her to the same place he took the rest of the refugees. Somehow, he felt, he owed her better protection, after what her grandfather was going to sacrifice for them. He couldn’t guarantee the Muggle refugees would never be caught, that if the timeline wasn’t restored they wouldn’t be severely punished. So he took her to the one place he trusted she would be truly safe, no matter what.

It was dark in the Burrow. Not surprising - it was the middle of the night, after all. But he knew that kitchen so well. In the sink, a large pot was washing itself. The smells of Mrs. Weasley’s delicious baking were rising from the stove. Other than that, the room was completely silent.

Now Harry started wondering what to do. Should he just leave a note? ‘This Muggle woman was injured by Death Eaters, please take care of her’? How would he sign it? As far as they knew, Harry Potter was dead for more than six years. He could sign it as ‘a friend of Dumbledore’ - but wouldn’t that put the Weasleys in trouble?

His thoughts were disturbed by a noise. Still supporting Donna, he couldn’t even reach for his wand, just turn around towards the noise. “Who’s there?” he heard the unmistakable voice of Arthur Weasley.

“A friend,” Harry said, as friendly as he could. “Dumbledore sent me.”

The room exploded into light. Harry blinked once or twice, so used now to the darkness that the bright light had hurt his eyes. “I need help, Mr. Weasley,” he called again. Someone - must have been Arthur Weasley - took Donna from his hands, allowing him to regain his balance, and shortly after, his sight.

When he opened his eyes, Donna was hovering towards the Weasley sofa, and Arthur Weasley was eyeing him suspiciously. “James Potter,” he said, his voice not particularly friendly, “what are you doing here?”

“I needed somewhere safe for her,” Harry said weakly.

“And you came here?” Mr. Weasley asked incredulous.

“It was the first place that came to my mind.” He hoped Mr. Weasley wouldn’t ask any more questions - it would be too hard to explain why the Burrow, of all places, would be the safest place he could think of. “Dumbledore mentioned it a while back,” he added, hoping to prevent further queries.

“Dumbledore...” Mr. Weasley seemed to accept this explanation, if somewhat reluctantly. “But don’t make a habit of this, Potter. We can’t afford to be your safe haven on a regular basis.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Harry said, half-heartedly. He barely heard Mr. Weasley’s words, because his eyes were drawn to Mrs. Weasley’s clock. Where once there were nine hands, only 5 remained. Ron’s hand was gone, and so were Ginny’s, Bill’s, and Fred’s. Only George, Percy and Charley’s names remained there on the clock, together with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s.

“What happened to Ron?” he blurted out, unable to control himself.

“Ron?” Mr. Weasley seemed taken aback.

“Your son, Ron. And Ginny...”

“They died in Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley followed Harry’s gaze to the clock, and then he sighed. “Ron died on the same night as Neville Longbottom. He was trying to stop them from taking him. Ginny... we didn’t get her out of Hogwarts in time.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“Better be on your way, then, Potter. I’d like to keep the children I still have.”

“Thank you,” Harry said in real earnest. Mr. Weasley just shrugged. “I don’t like it any more than you do, James. But I still have some of my family to look after. We’re left alone because we’re pure-blood, and You-Know-Who doesn’t want to hurt more pure-bloods than necessary. But if word came out we’re associated in any way with you... I can’t take the risks you’re taking, James. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” said Harry, his heart clenching in his chest with the defeated air around Mr. Weasley as much as with the missing names in the clock, and didn’t bother correcting Mr. Weasley’s mistake. “It’ll get better. Trust me.” As he turned on the spot to Apparate back to the forest, he saw nothing on Mr. Weasley’s face but grim despair.

In the forest, the Doctor and Wilf were standing in the same location, waiting for him appear.

“Let’s do it,” he said grimly. The three set out in silence.

But Harry couldn’t remain silent for long. Something Mr. Weasley said kept on echoing in his head.

“Wilf,” he turned towards the old man, only to be met with a scuffle.

“That’s Mr. Mott to you, wizard,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Mott? You said something about James Potter’s wife?”

“Yeah, she was a Muggle. So they say.”

“Muggle-born,” Harry corrected. “She was a witch, born to Muggle parents.”

Wilf looked at him in confusion. “Can’t happen, wizard. Everybody knows that. You’re only a wizard if you have at least one parent who’s a wizard.”

“What?” Harry couldn’t stop his anger. “That’s completely ridiculous, that’s - “

“That’s Voldemort’s version,” the Doctor interrupted, causing Wilf to jump again at the mention of the unpleasant name. “It’s not surprising that that’s the only version he’s sharing with the Muggles.”

“Yeah,” Harry said bitterly. “He would. But Wilf - Mr. Mott - what happened to her?”

Wilf shrugged. “Dead, I guess. I told you - they don’t like it when a wizard marries a Muggle. I think that’s what made Potter go after You-Know-Who. When they killed his wife. But you’ll have to ask a wizard. They don’t tell us anything.”

Lily was dead in this reality as well. He shouldn’t feel disappointed, he knew. They couldn’t let this reality continue, they had to change things back to the way they were, and she was dead then, as well. But just for a bit, when they kept on mentioning his father, confusing him for James, Harry dared hope that maybe he would see them, see them both, his father and his mother. But Voldemort had killed Lily Potter in this reality, too.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Harry too deep in thought to notice the other two, and the Doctor, thankfully, must have understood his feelings because he didn’t try to cheer him up. Eventually, they reached the big mansion house.

“This is it,” the Doctor whispered. “Just get them as far away from the gate as possible, Wilf.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor.”

“Thank you, I - “ for once, the Doctor was lost for words.

“Just make sure my Donna is safe,” Wilf said and set out towards the guards, and the Doctor whispered behind him, “I promise.”

“I hope you know a spell or two that could crack their defences,” the Doctor turned to Harry. “Otherwise this would be the world’s shortest infiltration mission.”

“I hope so too,” Harry whispered back. From afar, they could see Wilf approaching the guards. They couldn’t quite hear what he said, but Harry imagined he could catch ‘Potter’ at some point. “Is he telling them he saw me?” he whispered at the Doctor.

“Not you. Your dad.”

“My dad. Right.”

Whatever it was that Wilf told the two guards, it worked. One of them waved his wand, and the two stepped, one after the other, through the gate, and followed the old man into the forest. Before the Doctor could even say ‘now’, Harry was on his feet, rushing towards the now abandoned gate. Moving his hands and wand over the gate, he was looking for the weak spot, muttering incantations. Next to him the Doctor was almost jumping up and down, obviously unhappy at his inability to just wave his sonic screwdriver around and open the gate. He was annoyingly distracting, but Harry couldn’t stop the incantations to tell him so. That was one thing the book made very clear - he must continue, or he’d have to start all over again. With the added risk of tripping up an alarm.

Finally, he could feel it, the point he was looking for. The air was slightly different, fresh instead of bearing hints of staleness. It felt lighter, too, the invisible barrier weaker at that specific point to allow passage. He concentrated all of his efforts on that specific spot, until he felt it widening and growing - barely the size of a man, and the Doctor would have to squeeze, but better than nothing. “Let’s go,” he whispered, and stepped through the barrier. For a moment, he was afraid he failed. At the last moment, he felt something like a barrier, stopping him. But then the last resistance was gone, and he stepped out on the other side. The Doctor soon followed.

They started walking on the long pathway leading towards the manor house. Harry was reluctant to be so visible and out in the open, but any other path would have taken them twice as long - and as the Doctor had pointed out, the path was completely abandoned. Obviously, the Death Eaters did not even expect anyone to try and break their defences, let along succeed. Harry started believing they could make it, after all. He was trying hard not to think of Wilf, what was happening to him at that very moment, whether he was still alive: they would turn back time, they would fix everything, prevent it from ever happening, and Wilf and his granddaughter could continue living happily in ignorance of wizards. If they could only -

Two people appeared in their way, out of nowhere.

“Don’t kill him!” one shouted. “It’s Potter. Catch him!”

Harry jumped out of the way in the last second. He didn’t even have time to grab his wand before another curse was sent his way.

More people were showing up, Apparating into the scene.

“What about the other one?” someone shouted, as the Doctor started running away from Harry, away from the path.

“It’s only Potter he wants,” Harry heard the answer, and dread filled him. He knew what he would hear next. Desperately, he held out his wand, and started shooting spells at the Death Eaters. “Stupify! Impedimenta! Protego!”

Another Death Eater must have Apparated behind him - before he realised what hit him, his wand was rolling on the floor, three feet away from him, and someone grabbed him from behind.

“Avada Kedavra!” he heard the dreaded words. A rush of green light passed him and hit the Doctor, who tried to run and roll out of the curse’s way, but too late. The curse caught him in mid jump, and Harry saw the energetic body crumpling in mid air, landing roughly on the ground, motionless.

The Doctor was dead.


	10. Back to the Future (part 2, chapter 3)

Harry felt nothing but numbness as they dragged him into Malfoy Manor. Only the Doctor knew how to operate the Tardis. Only the Doctor knew those small, intricate details, the one that made the difference between destroying reality as Harry knew it and restoring the past, recreating the defeat of Voldemort. Even Dumbledore seemed to accept the Doctor’s authority on these matters. And now the Doctor was dead.

There was no way out. This was reality, this was where he was stuck. Where Voldemort is alive and in complete control. Where everything he had fought for was lost.

The numbness was lifted for long enough to make Harry want to scream. The Doctor couldn’t be dead! What would he do without him? He only felt like that once before - a little more than a year before. The night Dumbledore fell to his death from the top of the Astronomy tower.

A small part of him held on to that. Dumbledore’s death wasn’t the end of everything. He still managed to defeat Voldemort, despite it. There was still hope. But despair has taken over, reminding him that Dumbledore’s death was a part of a grander scheme, that their plan was already in motion, that back then they still had the Ministry on their side, still had the Order functioning, devoted to fight Voldemort. What did they have now? A bunch of wizards, afraid for their lives and the lives of their remaining family members, disorganised, with no way of communicating. And Ron was dead, Ginny was dead, Neville was dead, Hermione, Muggle-born, must be dead as well...

It was over.

He was dragged into a small room and pushed into a chair. The Death Eater who dragged him muttered something, and ropes emerged from the tip of his wand, securing Harry in place. He could feel the Elder wand pressed into his flesh under his jumper - having taken the holly wand, the Death Eaters didn’t think of searching for a second wand. But he couldn’t reach the wand, couldn’t grab it to get free. And even if he could, it wouldn’t matter.

The Doctor was dead.

His captor sneered at him and went out of the room. Harry was alone, tied to the chair. Completely helpless. He could feel panic starting to build up in his stomach. He had escaped from similar situations before, but with help he could not hope to find in this place. And his last and only ally was dead. Still he found himself having a frantic look around, almost instinctively. There was nowhere to escape. Apart from the chair he was sat on and the door, which must have been sealed by magic, the room was completely empty. Cold wind blew in his face from a high window, far above his reach. In his fear, he started wondering: would he remain there until Voldemort returns? And what would happen when Voldemort sees he’s not James Potter? Would he kill him without a second’s thought? Or would he notice the scar on Harry’s forehead - and then what?

Harry started trying to whisper spells, hoping the Elder wand would respond. But they were either wrong about his ownership of the wand in this reality, or he had to hold the wand in order to make it work. Or, an unpleasant thought crawled into his mind, now that he was disarmed of the Holly wand, the Elder wand refused to recognise his ownership and found a new master - the Death Eater. Harry resumed whispering incantations frantically, but eventually gave up, as nothing seemed to happen.

And then panic engulfed him. He heard voices near the door.

“You are quite welcome to leave him there, Dolohov,” sneered the unmistakable voice of Severus Snape. “And then you could explain to the Dark Lord why you swore to him Potter is in America with Black trying to raise support and would not return for at least several weeks.”

Dolohov muttered something in response, but Snape’s nasty tones cut across him. “Well, you seem to have been incompetent enough to give the Dark Lord false information, I would imagine Potter could just tell you anything to tell the Dark Lord. No, I think this... questioning - “ and there was something thoroughly unpleasant about Snape’s voice as he said that last word - “should be conducted by me.”

Snape. Harry’s heart turned cold with panic. Dumbledore believed he was on their side - he _was_ on their side. But that was in his reality. And Dumbledore wasn’t sure, was he? He had asked Harry on whose orders Snape acted that night on the Astronomy tower. What if Dumbledore was wrong? What if this Snape was Voldemort’s man - after all, Lily died in this reality too, when Snape could have stopped her death.

And then the door opened, and he was face-to-face with Severus Snape. He was exactly as Harry remembered - curtains of greasy black hair, his penetrating black eyes, and the permanent sneer on his face. Harry’s heart sank. This was not the face of a man who was about to help an ally.

“Leave us,” he muttered, and there was something dangerous in his voice.

“But, Severus,” Dolohov insisted, “the Dark Lord would want - “

“I will not damage Potter,” Snape sneered, eyeing Harry, “much. The Dark Lord would have him, just as he wishes. I will just... question him a little.” He then turned back to Dolohov. “Leave us!”

Dolohov left, closing the door behind him. Snape turned his wand towards the door and whispered something, and then turned to Harry. “I know James Potter. You’re not him. You have thirty second to tell me who you really are, or I _will_ torture that information out of you. And I would enjoy every single moment of it.”

“Look at me,” Harry answered and stared at the man defiantly. “You know who I am.”

The black eyes stayed on his face a long time, pausing on his eyes. For a split second something changed, and then the eyes turned to their usual apathy. But Harry had seen that moment, and knew: in this reality, just like his own, Severus Snape was Dumbledore’s man, through and through. He allowed himself a sigh of relief.

“How?” Snape croaked.

“It’s a - “ Harry struggled and the only thing that came to his mind was the Doctor’s useless explanation. “ - long story.”

“You died,” Snape hissed. “I saw your body, I couldn’t save you, you went there on your own, foolish boy... six years ago. You died!” He was almost shouting at Harry. And Harry, of course, realised why. Here, like in the real world - or reality, or whatever it was the Doctor chose to call it, in his own timeline, Snape was unable to save the woman he had loved since childhood.

“No one can bring back the dead,” Harry said softly, and discovered to his surprise he felt only pity towards the man in front of him. In the past couple of months, since that night in Dumbledore’s room when Harry learned the truth about Snape, and after his triumphant retort towards Voldemort, telling him how his downfall was orchestrated by that man, he had done his best to avoid thinking of Snape altogether. He didn’t know what to think of him. He was a hero, of course. Sacrificed everything to stop Voldemort, to watch over Harry, even after Lily died, because Harry was her son, the last remnant from her. Harry remembered his memory, how he rebelled at Dumbledore when he learned the truth about Harry’s destiny.

But he couldn’t forget the previous six years, when that man had done nothing but make his life as miserable as he could. Oh, he made sure he was physically safe, but never once did he try to make things easier for Harry, and later for Sirius, goading Sirius until he found his death in the Ministry. Harry was so used to feel nothing but hate towards Severus Snape, and never really learned how to let go. Deep inside he knew the man was a hero, that the plan would have failed without him, that he saved Harry’s life more times than Harry could possibly know. And still he could feel nothing but hate for him. So he buried his feelings, any thought of Severus Snape, and what difference did it make anymore? Snape was dead.

Except that now he wasn’t, and Harry had to look at his face again, and discovered that more than hate or resentment, more than anything else, he pitied him.

Snape, of course, knew nothing of what was going on in Harry’s mind. Instead, his wand was now aimed at Harry’s face, but not in an intention to cast a spell. Instead, it lifted his hair, revealing the lightning-bolt scar.

His reaction was not, however, what Harry expected. Harry was used to all manners of reaction to his scar - he thought he had seen them all in the seven years he had been a part of the wizarding world. But never had he seen a look of horror so thorough as the one that had appeared on Snape’s face. “But that never happened!” the man whispered, trying to hang on to the universe he knew. “He chose Longbottom, he thought Longbottom was the one...”

“No,” Harry said. “He chose me. At least, he was supposed to. That was his first thought, wasn’t it? The day you brought him that information, what you had heard while spying on Dumbledore?” He was being unkind, he knew. Snape had regretted that day’s actions until the day he died, and from what he had seen here, it was obvious he had regretted it every day of his life in this reality, too. But he couldn’t afford to have Snape break down, not now. If he had any chance of getting out of Voldemort’s clutches, he needed him. And with that thought he ignored the nagging voice in his head that insisted on asking “and then what? Now that the Doctor was dead, what difference would it make?” Instead, he looked at Snape again, trying to look as calm as possible, not to raise any suspicion or doubt in the man’s mind. He needed him. And if that meant being unkind, so be it.

Snape nodded. “He did think of Lily, at first,” he said in a broken voice, and sat down at a spare chair. Aiming his wand at Harry’s body, he now whispered the counter-curse, and the ropes disappeared. Harry hurried to get up, shake his arms and legs, get the blood in his body circulating again, and rid himself of the unpleasant feeling of the ropes cutting into his flesh. He was sure there was a mark on his chest, where the Elder wand was hidden, but for once he was sure this mark would not remain there for long. Just in case, he removed the Elder wand from under his shirt and held it in his hand. He noticed Snape eyeing the wand, obviously recognising it as Dumbledore’s, if not as the Death Stick or as one of the Hallows.

He then sat down again in front of Snape. “Why did he change his mind, then?” he asked. Snape didn’t reply, but rather reached for the Elder wand. “It’s Dumbledore’s. He gave it to me in case... in case you would not believe I come with his blessing.” He didn’t give Snape the wand, but rather held it tight in his own hand. Snape nodded and drew back his hand, playing with his own wand for a while.

“He just did,” Snape said abruptly.

“No!” Harry insisted. “Someone must have changed his mind! Who? When did it happen?” He knew Snape remembered perfectly well. Snape would not forget how Lily was saved, now, would he?

And indeed, his old Potions master sighed.

“Another Death Eater managed to convince him. I - “

“I know,” Harry said quietly. After all this time, after all these years, he realised he did not need to hear Snape’s confession out of his own mouth, he did not need to hear the former Death Eater confesses for the sin he had never forgiven himself of committing. “After you told him,” he whispered, “he thought of my mother.”

“I tried - “ Snape croaked and was silent. “But the next day, another Death Eater had succeeded where I have failed. He was convinced that the Dark Lord was wrong in his interpretation of the prophecy.That the boy in question was not the half blood Ha - you,” he seemed to have caught himself, “but the pure-blood boy.”

“Neville.”

Snape nodded. “Longbottom.”

“When was that?” Harry asked eagerly.

“The twelfth, the twelfth of July. That’s when he decided. There was a... meeting, of sorts.”

“But...” Harry hesitated. “Was it an old supporter, someone he knew well? Who convinced him?”

“One of the others,” Snape shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

Harry looked at him, not breaking eye contact, but not saying a word. Eventually, Snape sighed and seemed to concentrate. “He’s been there a while. Disappeared afterwards, however. We all assumed he was caught by Aurors. I have forgotten his name.”

“Please...”

“I don’t know!” Snape snapped. “Marrin, Melvin, something like that! All I remember is that stupid moustache he used to have!”

A hollow feeling came over Harry. He sent his hand to his upper lip, where a short growth of whiskers, three days old, had started to form. His memory of the last days stirred, and offered the picture of a young wizard, eyeing him and the Doctor in interest, not fear, his clean shaven face such a contrast to all the other humans around him.

“Marvin,” he whispered hoarsely, and Snape nodded in surprise.

“Yes, that was it. Marvin,” he agreed. “He had joined the Death Eaters some years before I did, I believe. Not in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, but trusted enough to make... suggestions.” His voiced seemed to trail, as he was deep in memories. “Of course I...” He looked at Harry almost defiantly. “It seemed wise,” he started again, his voice turning from grave to the same sneering, contemptuous tone Harry had known and loathed all these years, “to support his assertion. About the Longbottoms. I was already working with Dumbledore when he suggested it, and even when he managed to convince the Dark Lord that a pure-blood boy was bound to present a bigger problem than a half-blood, I remained in Dumbledore’s service.”

“Why?” Harry couldn’t help but ask bluntly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Snape sneered at him.

“Try me.”

When Snape reached for the Elder wand this time, Harry didn’t withdraw his hand, but let his old Potions master take it and study it. He moved the wand from hand to hand, examining it thoroughly. “The legends about this wand,” he said, almost to himself, his eyes fixed on the wand, and Harry was starting to wonder again whether he made the wrong choice. “They say the owner of this wand can never be defeated. That their magic would always be the strongest, perfect example of magic in their generation. It’s funny, don’t you think,” he almost whispered, mesmerised by the wand, “that the bearer of this wand had chosen to spend the majority of his life as a teacher?”

“Teachers can have quite a lot of influence,” Harry said defiantly.

Snape sneered. “Oh, yes. They both know it, of course. Attending Hogwarts is mandatory now. All pure-bloods and half-bloods must attend, and be trained by his own teachers, in his own way.” Reluctantly, he handed the wand back to Harry. “She still wasn’t safe, of course,” he suddenly started again, and it took Harry a while to realise he was talking of Lily again. “For now, the danger was over, now that the Dark Lord had decided to concentrate on Longbottom. But it wouldn’t have been long before he started targeting Muggle-borns. And then she would have been in danger once again.”

“But surely you knew that when you joined him!”

Snape snorted at him. “Yes,” he said nastily, “you were also this slow when you were eleven. I see that, at last, hasn’t changed. How many people your age do you know who think of the future? How many people your age do you know who fully understand the meaning of their actions?” and Harry was thinking of Draco Malfoy, sobbing in terror in the abandoned toilets. He remembered the sheer panic and reluctance he could see on his face through half-closed eyes as his aunt demanded he identify Harry.

“Yes,” Snape whispered, correctly reading the look on Harry’s face. “You never had the opportunity to make the wrong choice, boy.” His wand touched again Harry’s scar. “You were marked by him since childhood, making only one choice the possible one. Some of us had... more leeway to make mistakes. I realised that night how easily she could be in danger, and knew that whatever happened, I will do whatever I could to keep her out of harm. And I almost succeeded,” the bitterness in his voice was terrible.

“How did she die?” Harry asked quietly. There was nothing to do now, nothing to do but sit here and listen.

“After Longbottom died, the Dark Lord felt safe enough to declare himself officially. They then started rounding up the Muggle-borns. I warned Lily then, found her and warned her, that she had to leave, take her husband - “ he spat the word “ - and go. She wouldn’t listen. The Dark Lord had murdered her only son, and she would fight him until her last breath. I called her a fool. I told her, let others take the risk, others who were less in danger if they were caught, but she said they would all be in equal danger. She was wrong.” He stared at his hands for a long time before continuing. “They caught her and Potter one day. They broke into Azkaban to save some Muggle-borns, and were caught. Potter was pure-blood, his family going back all the way to the Peverells. They were never going to torture him for information. Not when they had a Mudblood.” He said the last word with such loathing.

Images of Bellatrix Lestrange came to Harry’s mind, and he shuddered. Snape didn’t fail to catch it. “Sounds familiar, I see,” he sneered at Harry.

“You could have done something!” Harry accused him.

“I would have. Had I been there. I didn’t even know she was caught until she was...” his voice trailed into silence. It took him a moment or two to continue. “You think I would have remained here? I stay here in the comfort and safety to find a way to stop him! Do you think I would have been willing to pay such a price?” his face was an inch from Harry’s, his eyes a mixture of hatred and desperation. “I gave all that up when she was first threatened. I was not about to go back on my word. Especially if she was at risk! I would have saved _him_ to get her out! But I wasn’t there. I got back in time to see Potter flee with Black and her body. Eventually, they managed to escape. But they were too late. And so was I.”

Harry could see the resentment in his eyes. Did he resent Harry’s assumptions? Or that James Potter took his wife’s body when he escaped, and Snape was left without a thing, unable even to mourn his love least his master sees? Or perhaps he resented James Potter escaping in one piece while Lily was dead? Maybe all of them, Harry mused.

Snape sat back on his own chair. “Don’t look at me like that, Potter,” he said suddenly. “I don’t need your forgiveness and I don’t want your pity. I just want the Dark Lord to meet his end. But these days, even Dumbledore is in hiding. Even he knows better than to confront the Dark Lord. It would seem he’s bound to stay in hiding, scheming and thinking of complicated plans that would never come into fruition, dreaming of missed opportunities. And I’m bound to stay in the service of the Dark Lord, never quite getting my revenge.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Harry mumbled. “Please, if you don’t let me go - if I’m still here when Voldemort returns...” he looked up at the man he had learned to hate all those years ago, but was now unable to hate. “Severus. Please.”

Snape looked at him in his calculating look. “And if your story is not the truth?” he hissed. “You are claiming to be a boy who had died six years ago! If I let you go, the Dark Lord would know I have betrayed him. You are asking me to give my life for you, and I have nothing to go by but your word.”

Harry looked at him for a moment, lost for words. That possibility had never crossed his mind: that Snape would doubt his own story, would not believe his words, would not trust Harry to be the one who could fix this. “Dumbledore has other plans in movement,” Snape continued, “and the success or failure of any of these might depend on my presence here.” Harry opened his mouth to say this was one of these plans, but the look on Snape’s face had left the words unsaid in his throat. “What would you do? If the only tangible hope would have been to continue with the old plan, to stay here and wait for the opportunity to show itself - a real, confirmed opportunity. The one you’ve been waiting for for years. Not if there was the tiniest shred of doubt. You wouldn’t.”

Snape got up from his chair opposite Harry. With a tip of his wand, he had opened the door, then left the room and closed it behind him. The empty white walls of the small room closed in on Harry from all sides. No sound escaped from the next room. For a moment, he stood there alone, in the silence, staring ahead at the locked door.


	11. Back to the Future (part 2, chapter 4)

He was locked in a room. The door will only open for Voldemort, coming to kill him. As the realisation sunk in, Harry rebelled against it. He had accepted a death like this once, yes, but under different circumstances. He might not be able to travel back in time and see his own reality again, but it didn’t mean he had to die here, too. Inside him, something fell into place, and he wasted no more time. First, he tested the door. “Alohomora,” he whispered, aiming the Elder wand at the door. Nothing happened. Whatever spell had been used to lock it, it must have been a more complex spell than a simple door lock. Snape must have realised that Harry walking into the next room would not be the best way to show his loyalty to Voldemort. At least he had left him untied, Harry reflected. And had let him keep the wand. He looked for a second at the wand in his hand, and muttered ‘Accio wand’ under his breath. He still wanted his own wand. Within seconds, that wand flew into his hand through the open window, the wand of holly and phoenix feather. For a moment, Harry tensed, trying to listen through the door to whatever was going on in the next room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No one called in surprise, or even seemed to notice the Holly wand was gone. Harry held on to the Elder wand for a moment longer, and then put it away under his shirt.

Next - a way out. Harry examined the small window more carefully this time, but realised once again there was no way he could climb through it. He was considering a complex - and somewhat dangerous - manoeuvre that included the chair and a levitation charm, when he heard noises from the the door.

On the other side of the door, the Death Eaters were kneeling in front of their Master, who had returned at last from his journey, victorious. Half grovelling in fear, half looking in jealousy and resentment at those of their number who had been allowed to accompany their lord to his recent expedition and have returned triumphant. The Death Eaters were holding on to two prisoners, bound by a powerful spell.

Dishevelled, with filthy clothes and messy long hair, the prisoners were pushed into the floor, while the Death Eaters, rising with the permission of their master, jeered at them. Even through the magical paralysis, the two prisoners looked at their captives in defiance, one with a pair of hazel eyes, his friend with grey eyes.

Lord Voldemort raised a hand, stopping his Death Eaters from speaking.

“James Potter,” he touched one of the prisoners with his foot. “And Sirius Black,” he touched the other one. “We meet again. Although, I am afraid, this time might not end as well for you as the last time. _Crucio!_ ”

James Potter’s screams filled the room, and Voldemort laughed. Behind him, the Death Eaters join in with the laughter. Sirius struggled against the ropes binding him, desperate to help his friend, but in vain. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the curse was lifted, and James’ screams subsided. Voldemort’s attention was now directed at Sirius.

“The loyal side-kick,” he sneered. “You always were the one with the least sense in your family, Black. But, as you chose to share Potter’s fate...” he lifted his wand and aimed it this time at Sirius. “Crucio!” he repeated the curse, and this time it was Sirius’ screams that echoed through the big manor house.

“I could do this all day,” Voldemort sneered when the screaming stopped. “But no matter, no matter. Time to end this, I think. Dumbledore’s pets have been an annoyance far too long. Time for you to join you wife and son, Potter,” and he lifted his wand once again at James Potter.

But he did not hit him with the curse, because at that exact moment, the realisation dawned on one of his Death Eaters. “Wait a minute,” Amycus Carrow looked from the prisoners, bound on the floor, to Severus Snape, to the closed door, to the prisoners again.

Lord Voldemort turned his head in amazement. His expression was close to shock. He had never been stopped from killing an enemy before, not by one of his Death Eaters - and least of all by Amycus Carrow. His nostrils widened in anger, but Carrow had not realised the danger he was in, as he was still looking, not at his Master, but at the locked door. Severus Snape took several steps back. “If that’s Potter there, who’s the one locked in the room?”

Voldemort lowered his wand for a second in confusion. Then, several things happened at once.

A loud bang was heard, and James Potter and Sirius Black were free of the ropes binding them. They rolled on the floor, away from harm’s way. Lord Voldemort had noticed his pray was escaping and turned, roaring, towards the two - who had now become three. From his corner of the room, Severus Snape had Disarmed several Death Eaters, throwing their wands towards the two prisoners. A killing curse missed him by inches, and Lord Voldemort screamed in fury. Chaos reigned in the room.

And behind the locked door, through howls of pain, screams and curses, Harry Potter struggled to make sense of the scene he could not see. He was so intent on listening, his wand at his hand, that he didn’t realise he was no longer alone in the room.

“I think,” said a familiar voice behind him, “it’s time for us to leave.”

Harry jumped, turned around, and nearly sent a curse at the speaker. The Doctor was standing behind him. He lowered his wand in shock.

“How - ?”

“In through the window,” he pointed at the same small, high window Harry had contemplated escaping through before, and for some reason, seemed very pleased with himself.

“But I saw - you were - they killed you!”

“Not human, remember?” the Doctor smiled. “The killing curse is designed to kill humans. Oh, it knocked me out,” he added, “took a while before I came to, that’s what took me so long. Didn’t quite realise where I was, before I remembered this was the 27th floor...”

Harry stared at him, wondering whether the curse that had failed to kill him had nonetheless addled his mind. The Doctor’s pleased grin seemed to fade a little. “Back to the Future? No? Wizards!” He muttered. “ _Anyway_ ,” he said again quickly, trying to cover the awkward moment Harry still didn’t quite understand, “like I said before, magic doesn’t affect me the way it does you. I still wouldn’t want to wait and see what happens if Voldemort tries to attack me, though. Or Dumbledore, for that matter, although he’s not here and there really isn’t a lot of reason for him to try and curse me... Anyway. Let’s get out of here?”

“You think we can get out through the window?” Harry eyed it again.

“Well, we could,” the Doctor said, “but it might take some time. I was thinking more of getting the Tardis here.”

“Can you do that?”

The Doctor sighed. “Remote. One day I’ll get a remote. Right now, I was thinking more about you.”

Harry looked at him confused, then followed the Doctor’s gaze to the wand in his hand. “And that’s going to work?” he asked in doubt.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face. “Let’s find out.”

“Listen, we don’t have time for mistakes here, in case you haven’t realised, that’s Voldemort - “

“We can’t afford being caught, Harry. It’s the best way.”

Harry shrugged. Normally he would never have doubted his magical powers, but seeing the Doctor walking and talking... he concentrated instead on the blue box. “Accio Tardis!” he called.

Nothing happened.

“How do we know it’s worked?”

The Doctor didn’t seem to register his question. Instead, he was staring at the empty space in front of them, as if waiting for some invisible cue. “Doctor?” Harry asked tentatively again, but the Doctor raised his hand in a gesture that seemed to signal ‘Shut up!’ clearly enough. Harry stood there for several more seconds, staring at the Doctor, when the alien’s face broke into a smile. “Brilliant,” he said, and catching Harry’s bemused expression, said, “Listen!”

Harry listened. At first, he heard nothing, getting angrier and angrier with the Doctor, who insisted they stood there instead of going out, looking for the Tardis - or even join in with the fight, that had evidently not stopped yet... and then, quite distinct from the voices on the other side of the door, he finally heard it. The familiar whizzing sound, the Tardis’ time-rotor, the unmistakable sound of the time machine dematerialising, growing louder and louder.

Right in front of him, the impression of a big blue box started to appear, phasing in and out of the room, in and out of reality.

“That’s not how the spell’s supposed to work,” he said, slightly stupidly, as the contours of the Tardis disappeared again, only to appear stronger a second later.

“Well,” the Doctor said in a non-committed voice. Harry didn’t really expect him to explain properly, and so he was not surprised that the sentence was not continued.

They stood there for a few more moments, waiting for the time machine to finish materialising. But before it could, the door flew open.

Three men hurried into the room, their backs turned towards the Doctor and Harry, the wands hard at work. A curse flew in after them. Without thinking, Harry jumped into the fight. He could hear the Doctor shouting something behind him, but he didn’t care. He shot a Stunning spell at a Death Eater, whose body slumped at the entrance, blocking his friends. Next to him, Sirius stopped his spell-casting for a moment, ready to thank his unexpected saviour, and nearly dropped his wand in shock.

“Sirius!” Harry screamed and cast a shield charm to protect his godfather from the curse that was sent his way at that moment. Sirius, clearly shaken, returned to casting spells at the door.

“We need - to block - that thing,” he muttered.

“A shame, then, you didn’t think of it when you cursed the door open,” Snape did not give up the opportunity to throw a snide comment at Sirius, even as they were fighting side-by-side against Voldemort.

“Shut - “ Sirius started, but reserved his next word for a well-cast spell. Another body crumpled at the entrance to the room.

Harry shot another Stunning spell himself, and backed further into the room. His back hit something sold. Surely, it couldn’t be - but it wasn’t the wall. The blue box now stood, fully materialised, in the middle of the room, and above the shouts he could make up the Doctor’s voice.

“Harry! We need to go, now!”

Just as he turned around, he heard another blast from the door. The bodies that have blocked the entrance, allowing the five temporary refuge, were gone. Lord Voldemort stood at the entrance to the room. His wand in his hand, wrath written all over his face, Harry stared at the face that still haunted his nightmares. The pupils were red slits, the nostrils snake-like, and face itself white as marble. His face was twisted with rage, and Harry knew it was the kind of rage that brought death with it. In the past he had felt that rage more than seen it, all those times Lord Voldemort’s wrath had infiltrated into his mind through the scar, through the piece of soul that had latched itself unto him, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the terrible expression he was watching now was identical to all those he had felt previously.

It was that moment of hesitation by Voldemort, as he looked into Harry’s eyes himself, that had saved him. Someone caught him by his shirt, dragged him sideways and into safety under the chair, as Harry’s own mind was frozen with the snake-like face. The spell broken, he looked up at his saviour - and saw not his father, Sirius, or even the Doctor, but Severus Snape, breathing in his ear. “Save her.” Harry nodded, unable to express his gratitude. At that moment, a killing curse that was aimed at him - or perhaps at Snape - had hit the chair, blasting it to pieces. He got up and rushed to the door at the front of the Tardis, where the Doctor looked at him anxiously, keeping it open. A man rushed to the same spot at the same time, a man with untidy black hair and hazel eyes. For a split second the green eyes met the hazel ones, which widened in shock, and he could see his father recognised him for who he was. And then, a shower of green sparks had hit James Potter, and he fell. Harry slammed the door behind him, knowing he couldn’t help him anymore.

“Go - go - go!” he shouted, but no need - the time rotor was already going up and down in the central column, the Tardis surely fading in and out of existence inside the Malfoy Manor. He imagined for a moment he could hear Voldemort’s furious scream - had he realised who he, Harry, was? What they were doing there? What it meant for Voldemort’s fate himself? He didn’t know. And at that moment, he didn’t care. All he could think of were those hazel eyes, in the face that was so much like his own, and the light that seemed to be extinguished from them as the killing curse hit him.

He didn’t remember letting go of the door or walking up the ramp, but he must have, because the next thing he noticed were the seats at the centre of the room.

He lifted his head, locating the Doctor. The Time Lord was looking at him, sadness in his eyes. His eyes were brown, not blue, his hair brown and short rather than white and long, he was sporting no beard or spectacles and his Muggle - human - suit would not be misplaced in Vernon Dudley’s home, but at the same time, Harry couldn’t help but imagining his old mentor in his stead.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he said simply, realising he didn’t get the chance to say it in the confusion that surrounded them before.

The Doctor nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry nodded. “He’s going to die anyway,” he said in a hollow voice. “That’s what we’re setting out to do, isn’t it? Set the timeline right again? I know when it is we’re supposed to be going, by the way. Snape told me,” and once again he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the man, who wouldn’t save his life, but sacrificed his cover - and most likely, his own life - for the two men he hated with passion from the day they had met, trying to bring down the one he hated most of all. Loyal to Dumbledore until the end.

But the Doctor didn’t ask him where it was they were going, what date they would travel to next, but just continued to look at him in a penetrating look, and Harry found himself wondering for a moment whether Dumbledore had learned this particular technique from the Doctor, or whether it was the other way around.

“I know they have to die,” he said, averting his gaze from the Doctor. “Destiny, right? Or the right timeline, or whatever it is you want to call it. In order to defeat Voldemort and get to the right timeline again, they have to die. Fixed moment, can’t undo it, like you said.”

“No,” the Doctor said quietly, and Harry’s glance shot upwards, staring at the Time Lord.

“They don’t have to - “

“No,” the Doctor shook his head sadly. “They will die. That’s a fixed moment in time.”

Harry looked at him apprehensively.

“It’s not ‘destiny’, Harry. You need to understand this. I shouldn’t have taken you at all, I knew it was a mistake, but Harry Potter!” He calmed down a bit. “I couldn’t resist. Like always. That’d be my end one day. But you’re here, so you deserve to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“It could happen. Your parents could be alive, and you could live happily with them, such a timeline is possible. And Voldemort would still be defeated. Or never come into power. Or a thousand other possibilities that could change and still give you a happy life with your parents. There is no ‘destiny’. This isn’t something that can’t ever be changed. The right choice, the right word, the right intervention, one fragile moment, and it all changes.That’s what my people did, for years. Before the war, before they died. They would watch, and learn, identify the right moment, the exact point, how it could be changed, manipulated, how to create the universe that they thought was best.”

Harry knew what was the next word. “But?” he added it to the discussion, on his own.

“But that’s the nature of fixed moments. They’re dead, and this ability is lost with them. We can’t tell. There’s no way of knowing what change would bring this result, and what would bring a much worse disaster. All we know is that if this moment changes, the universe can’t recuperate. For better or for worse, it will be forever altered. I can’t change the Time Lords’ fate...” the Doctor seemed almost overcome with sadness when he said these words, “and you can’t change your parents’. But there’s no destiny.”

“Just the best of a bad lot.”

“You could say that,” the Doctor conceded.

Harry stood there for a moment, rooted in place. For a moment he resented the Doctor, standing there, explaining the death of his parents so calmly. He resented the Time Lords, who had to die and leave him with no way out, even though it wasn’t fate, or destiny, or prophecy, and he resented their Time. The image of his parents burned in his mind, just as fresh as the first time he’d seen them in the Mirror of Erised, all those years ago. For a moment he thought of rebelling, of arguing, of shouting, something to match the way his heart seemed to be clutched by a cold hand inside his chest. But he knew even before he opened his mouth that he wouldn’t. What was done was done. No magic could bring back the dead, and he had learned to come to terms with that, a long time ago. Not even time was magic enough. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go,” Harry said, and gave the Doctor the date that would serve as their next destination. He watched the Time Lord spin a dial and press some buttons, sending the time-rotor moving up and down again towards their new destination, but could only see hazel eyes looking back at him.


	12. What's Past Is Prologue (Part 3, chapter 1)

July 12th, 1980. That was when Harry expected them to land. He was therefore surprised when, after the whizzing noises had died out, the Doctor announced July 10th.

“It’s the 12th,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, this is a time machine,” the Doctor said. “We don’t have to wait until the last minute. It might take us a while to locate Marvin.”

Harry had shared with him, of course, his discovery. The Doctor was not nearly as surprised as Harry thought he would be. “What?” he demanded. “Did you know he would do that?”

“No, I didn’t, of course I didn’t!” the Doctor protested. “Not then. But think about it, Harry.”

And Harry thought about it. Of course, _now_ it all seemed obvious. Marvin’s form of misguided pure-blood mania. His fascination with Harry’s own time. His insistence to see the wizards as a trodden-down, mistreated group, oppressed by the Muggles.

His willingness to sacrifice the few for ‘the greater good’.

“When he didn’t show up in the morning, I thought he must have had second thoughts. Or maybe that he wasn’t as willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good as he was willing to sacrifice others,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t realise...” his voice trailed, and he didn’t complete the sentence.

“I should have known,” he said firmly. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “It was all there,” he insisted, and the Doctor didn’t say anything.

They stayed there for a little while longer, staring at each other. After a while, Harry moved uncomfortably. “So...”

“Ready?” the Doctor asked him, sounding slightly sceptic.

“Yes,” Harry answered without a second thought.

“Let’s go then,” the Doctor said, but there was no trace to his usual light-hearted adventurousness.

Harry opened the door. Rain greeted him - rain and a damp chill. The sky had the red tint of evening in the North, the same red tint the Hogwarts sky used to get towards the end of the school year. Far beyond, he thought he could see the tip of the Astronomy tower, and the familiar mountains that surrounded Hogwarts from almost every direction. They were in Hogsmeade.

More specifically, they were in a back alley, right behind an old looking building. It was built of ancient stones, that had a layer of grey oily dirt on them. From the window, they could see dim light, fit for people who prefer to keep their face hidden and their business secret. Around them, bags of rubbish were half open, and a small goat was eating its way slowly through the content of one of them. And a small but persistent drizzle was threatening to turn everything around them wet and cold.

“Is this - “

“The Hog’s Head,” the Doctor confirmed.

“And why are we here?”

The Doctor was deep in thought. Harry wasn’t sure he even heard him. He turned his eyes this way and that, as if scanning the reddish night for some unknown presence, rooted into place. “C’mon, Doctor. Let’s go in. I’m getting soaked.”

“Right!” the Doctor answered, and they passed the building into the main Hogsmeade street, to enter through the door. Harry had a moment’s glimpse at the village behind him - it seemed almost abandoned. None of the shops were opened, none of the buildings had light coming out of their window, except for the Hog’s Head. Not a soul walked in the street. Not a voice was heard. Hogsmeade, Harry realised, at the height of Voldemort’s power, the first time round. In those days, it was better not to linger outside. He opened the door.

The Hog’s Head, of course, didn’t seem to suffer a drop in clientele. Aberforth Dumbledore, Harry knew, had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and helped fight Voldemort in secret. But to the world, it appeared, he showed a disinterested face, a neutral leaning, and a place where both Death Eaters and their would-be victims could drink. The four cloaked men who were sitting in the corner and drinking firewhiskey loudly must have been Death Eaters - they were too loud to be anything else. They were eyed by a red-headed witch who was drinking something green next to the bar, but she kept herself to herself. She must have been the only person in the pub who was not cloaked: her red jumper drew immediate attention, as did her short skirt and high boots. A pale man in black robes, who looked suspiciously like a vampire, was drinking a red liquid with a bored expression, next to a hooded small man who almost jumped when Harry and the Doctor walked in, and kept on scanning the room in nervousness. The room itself was not heated enough, badly lit, and too quiet, with the exception of the Death Eaters’ occasional outbursts of laughter.

And the Doctor kept on spinning around nervously.

“Well?” Harry asked the Doctor, but it took the Doctor a moment to register the question.

“I’ll be back,” he said cryptically, and moved towards the door. “Don’t wander off!” he gave one last word of caution and disappeared. Harry started calling after him, but the Doctor was already gone. Sulking, he stepped to the bar, and sat next to the red-headed witch. She eyed him for a moment, but returned to her drink. The barman - Aberforth, who, of course, did not recognise him now - walked towards him with a scowl.

“Butterbeer,” Harry said. Aberforth eyed him for a moment longer, then shrugged and put a glass and a bottle in front of him. The glasses were even filthier than they were the last time he was here, and Harry mused for a moment that Aberforth must have got new glasses at some point in the eighteen years that had passed, because these glasses seemed as if no amount of rags, water or magic could make them any cleaner. Carefully, he moved the glass to his side, and drank straight from the bottle.

The red-headed witch next to him gave another look to the Death Eaters, then to him. She took a sip from her green drink, and sighed. “These glasses are a bit dirty, aren’t they,” she said.

At the back end of the bar, Aberforth scowled again. It would appear he had heard her. Harry thought it might be a good idea to drive the point through. “Yeah,” he said, not very quietly. “Mind you, these bottles are covered with dust, too.” Aberforth gave him a dirty look.

“Well, who goes to the Hog’s Head and orders butterbeer?” the witch point out. Harry smiled, and she sneaked another look at the Death Eaters.

“You know them?” he asked as casually as possible.

“No,” she said shortly. “You know, this tastes a bit like menthol and - “ she grimaced - “cherries. Bad cherries.”

“Why are you drinking it, then?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took one last sip, and finished the green thing. “Wizard drinks are weird. Hard to get used to them. Of course - “ she continued - “wizards as a whole are weird. Look at the man over there,” she pointed at the potential-vampire’s companion. “He hasn’t taken his hood off since the moment he walked in here. You’d think he’d feel more comfortable in here, out of all places.” She shrugged. “Then again, with the company he’s keeping, I’m not surprised.”

“Who are you?” Harry interrupted the flow of information in confusion. If he understood her correctly -

“Liz. Liz Shaw. _Doctor_ Elizabeth Shaw, to be precise - can I get another one please?” that last bit was aimed at Aberforth, who had done his best to ignore her ever since she finished her drink. He walked towards them, took out a large opaque bottle, and started pouring more green liquid in. When he finished, he pointedly took out a tray with cherries, and threw one in. She laughed, and gave him two sickles, which he took grudgingly and went back to cleaning more glasses with his filthy rag next to the possible-vampire and his unfortunate companion. Liz Shaw took a new sip. “Definitely cherry,” she said, and smiled at Harry. “And you, of course, are Harry Potter.”

He looked at her for a moment, shocked, and she laughed. “It’s the scar,” she said. “It’s a dead give-away, you realise.”

“What year is it?” he demanded, thinking the Doctor must have got it wrong, and all the time knowing it’s not possible, Hogsmeade had never looked like that, unless it’s -

“ - 1980, don’t worry, you’re in the right year - I can only assume you’re in the right year and actually meant to travel in time. If you meant to go home, then you’re almost in the wrong century and better go back right now. It’s not the safest of times. Oh, don’t look so shocked,” she said and smiled again, “I reckon the Doctor recognised me before I recognised him, of course, but once I realised who he was, it didn’t take too much effort to put one and one together.”

“Did you also travel with him? Are you from my time? What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I didn’t travel with him, not quite,” she said quietly, and there was a note of sadness in her voice. “He was quite different back then, mind you. You’re lucky, it looks like he’s a bit easier to handle at the moment. He used to be very grumpy. But no, I’m quite where I’m supposed to be. I used to be his assistant, you know. I’m working with the UN now, building a research base. On the moon,” she added, and it was obvious she thought he should be impressed.

Harry, however, was still apprehensive. So she was a Muggle, and didn’t travel in time, but knew the Doctor and knew about him. “How do you know who I am?” he asked again, quietly this time.

“That’s a bit harder to explain,” she said.

“Try.”

“I’ve got something in my room upstairs,” she said, “which might make it clearer.” She got up from her seat and started walking towards the stairs, obviously expecting Harry to follow. He had a moment of hesitation - the Doctor, after all, said not to wander off - but his curiosity got the better of him. Whoever she was, something in her story must be true, as she recognised the Doctor and recognised him. He left the half-finished bottle of butterbeer on the bar and jumped from his seat. Aberforth’s eyes followed him through the room and all the way to the staircase.

If the room below was dimly lit, the upstairs part of the pub was almost dark. It was just as dirty as the lower part: the walls had the same grim greyness to them, and while the floor was covered with a carpet, and so not as visibly dirty as the floor down below, Harry had a nagging suspicion that the carpet shared the same grey dirtiness that ruled the pub. Just like the pub portion of the Hog’s Head, the Hog’s Head Inn was meant for people who did not want to conduct their affairs where they would be visible, those who had a good reason to hide, and those who simply couldn’t afford a better place to stay.

Dr. Shaw, in her colourful clothes and indifferent attitude - and who confessed so openly to being a Muggle in Britain’s one only-wizard village - did not strike Harry as either of these things. Something here, he knew, was not right. He considered going back now, going down the stairs and not see whatever it was the woman was leading him to. He imagined he could hear Hermione’s voice: what if Marvin knew they were coming and had set a trap; what if Voldemort already knew of this unexpected danger from the future; what if there was some other dark magic involved. Harry pulled out his wand and hesitated.

She must have felt that he had stopped following her, for she turned around in front of one of the doors and smiled. If she intended to relax his doubts with her smile, she had failed. It wasn’t warm or pleasant. Harry started edging backwards. He should have stayed downstairs.

“Come on, now,” she said impatiently. “I won’t bite. Neither will he.” She opened the door.

Before Harry had a chance to ask who ‘he’ was, he heard another voice, a man’s voice. It wasn’t a familiar one - whoever this woman was working with, it wasn’t Marvin and it wasn’t Voldemort. “Ah,” the voice said. “You’ve brought him. Well done.”

“The Doctor’s not with us,” she said, but the man just chuckled.

“He will come, don’t you worry.”

The voice was getting closer - the man in the room was walking towards the door.

“Lumos,” Harry murmured and his wand came to life, lighting the grey walls and brown carpet, lighting the face of Dr. Elizabeth Shaw and her companion, who by now had stepped through the door and into the hallway.

He wasn’t anyone Harry had ever met. He was tall, with dark hair and short, dark beard and moustache - not like wizards often wore them, but following Muggle fashion. His clothes were all black, and on top of them he wore a black cape.

“Come now,” he said pleasantly to Harry, but Harry just raised his wand higher. There was coldness coming from the man, coldness that far surpassed the chill of the hallway. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather rude. I have sent the good Dr. Shaw here to bring you to me under false pretence, and for that I must apologise.” He did not seem to mind the wand that was still directed at him.

Harry took another step backwards.

The man just sighed. “Must we have this conversation in the hallway? Despite the Hog’s Head excellent reputation for keeping one’s secrets, I do find this place a bit too public.”

“Who are you?” Harry demanded.

“I am called the Master.”

“What kind of a name is ‘the Master’?” Harry asked, but in his mind he started to wonder. The Master, the Doctor... was it possible he was a Time Lord? But the Doctor said they were all gone, that he was the only Time Lord left. Could the Doctor be wrong? It would fit - the time travel, the knowledge of the future... but why would the Doctor insist he was the only one? And besides, why kind of a name _was_ ‘the Master’?

“I will be happy to answer all your questions, Mr. Potter, but not here. Inside the room, where we can have some privacy.” And when he saw Harry’s hesitation, he added, “I assure you, you will not be harmed. The wars of wizards are none of my concern.”

With that, he turned back and entered the room. Dr. Shaw shrugged. “I’d hear what he has to say,” she said, and went inside as well. Still suspicious, still hesitating, and against his better judgement, Harry followed.

The small room turned out - much to Harry’s surprise - to actually be decently clean and hospitable. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, and all the lamps were lit. The Master was sitting on a chair, his back turned to the fireplace. Dr. Shaw was leaning on the wall next to him, her lips pursed, her arms crossed. The Master did not seem to notice her. He was studying Harry thoroughly, all the time smiling his cold, unfriendly smile.

“I should thank you, I suppose,” he said when Harry entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Voldemort, while being a most... determined fellow, shall we say? is turning out to be quite the nuisance. Here, have a seat,” he gestured at a chair next to his, but Harry ignored the suggestion and stayed standing, his back to the door but close to it, ready to leave at any moment.

One thing was certain now, though: This man could not possibly be a wizard. Not only did he speak Voldemort’s name, but no wizard, not even Dumbledore, could ever think of Voldemort as a ‘nuisance’. It would require a man who did not - could not - be affected by Voldemort, to dismiss him in such a way.

Something of that must have shown on his face, as the Master smiled again. “I assure you I do not mean to underestimate the gravity of his actions, Mr. Potter. But you need to look at the bigger picture.”

“And what would that be?”

“The universe out there is so big, it encompasses all of space and time. Voldemort is one man, who, of course, did terrible things - terrible!” Behind him, Dr. Shaw pursed her lips even further. “But in the end, my dear Mr. Potter, he is just one man, and this is just one period of time, and just one planet. You see, I’m thinking of the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture,” Harry repeated in a hollow voice. “Been down that road before.” He turned his back on the Master and opened the door.

“Mr. Potter!” he heard his voice behind him, and turned around again.

“What is it you want from me?” he asked.

“I want you to listen,” the Master answered.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“And yet, you will listen.” The Master’s eyes looked into Harry’s, and he relaxed. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to listen. It’s not like he would have to go along with anything the Master suggested. It’s not like he had better things to do with his time. “Just to listen,” the Master said again, and all along he was looking at Harry. Harry closed the door and took a step back inside. He would just listen, he though, until the Doctor comes back.

Perhaps it was the thought of the Doctor that made him stop, and think. He felt like that before, didn’t he? And now the thought that was urging him at the back of his head, take another step, one other step, didn’t feel like his own anymore. Was it his thought, his wish, or was it someone else’s?

He shook his head and the spell was broken. The Master’s face broke into a wide smile - the first genuine one Harry had seen on him - and Dr. Shaw, behind him, looked impressed.

“Excellent, Mr. Potter! I knew you had it in you!” The Master clapped his hands. “You must forgive me for playing my old trick on you. Mind control, of course, does not work on everyone, and you have, if I am not much mistaken, experience in fighting it. I had to try, of course, you understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry said coldly, fighting the urge to start screaming at the man.

“You see, I need you to listen to me. It is of vital importance for my plans.”

“If you think that after what you just did I’m going to start working with you or something - “ Harry’s anger at the man threatened to explode, but he did not seem to care. Instead, he laughed at Harry.

“Working with me? My dear Mr. Potter, do you really think I need wizards for my plans?”

“Why do you want me to listen, then? And what are your ‘plans’?”

“Ah, both these questions will be answered in time. If you just stay and listen. Sit!” he said in a commanding voice. Harry, unsure whether that was a regular command from this arrogant alien or another attempt at my control, remained standing in defiance.

“Very well,” the Master sighed. “But don’t blame me if your legs start hurting!”

“I’ll manage.”

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. My plans. Like I said, Mr. Potter, Voldemort might be a very powerful and very determined wizard, but he thinks small. It his not his fault - wizards have remained blissfully unaware of the universe beyond this wretched planet, long after Muggles have already started suspecting the truth. The universe is so much bigger than anything you or any of your fellow wizards could possibly imagine! There is, however, one special planet in the skies. He who controls the destiny of that planet, controls the destiny of the universe.

“I am speaking, of course, of my own home planet, Gallifrey. The power of the Time Lords clearly surpasses any other power in the galaxy, any power you could possibly comprehend.”

“And that’s what you want?” Harry asked coldly. “Power? Sounds like Voldemort to me.”

The Master chuckled again. “No, Mr. Potter. Not like Voldemort. My people use their power in ways you could not even begin to imagine. Of course, if you ask them, they would tell you they are against any form of interference, that the matters of the universe should be left to tend to themselves, that time must flow in its own way. And all the time, they make sure the universe does not manage to produce anyone else to rival them. I’m afraid I’m not as welcome there as I used to be. They seem to be under the impression I’m... too dangerous,” he smiled again, and Harry was inclined to agree with the Time Lords. “And I rather think it is time for a regime change.”

“So you want to start a revolution? Take over?”

“In a way,” he nodded, “in a way. Why look so hostile? Think about it, Mr. Potter. Your parents don’t have to die, do they? Who says Voldemort can’t die tonight? Or never be born?”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. “But the Doctor - “

“Oh, the Doctor!” The Master sneered. “Never upset the established order, never take chances, that’s the Doctor! But he is right about one thing. Alone, you can’t do these things. Time cannot stand for it, neither he nor I have the knowledge to do it ourselves. But think! With the Time Lords’ power, with all the might of Gallifrey, do you really think the past cannot be checked and re-checked and checked again, the future foretold? What’s to stop _the Time Lords_ from interfering in your case? Only their laws, now. Thinks of the things we could change, together!”

“Change the universe itself...”

Harry jumped, and turned around. He had no idea how long the Doctor had been standing there behind him, when did he enter the room. How long had the Master been aiming his words at the Doctor, rather than himself.

“I see you are also becoming home-sick, Doctor. Perhaps, we do have something to talk about.”

To Harry’s surprise, the Doctor nodded. The Master got up from his chair by the fireplace. “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” he said, “you have been _most_ useful.”

“What, so I was just bait?” Harry asked, annoyed. “Meant to bring the Doctor here?”

“And you have done so admirably. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe the Doctor and I have some things to discuss. You may remain here with Dr. Shaw, who has been most helpful, as well. We shall return, worry not.”

The Master stepped out of the room. The Doctor stared a bit longer at the fire, then at Harry. He didn’t say a word, not even cautioning Harry not to wander off in these strange times. He just followed the Master, and closed the door behind him.


	13. What's Past Is Prologue (Part 3, chapter 2)

“I - cannot - believe - him!”

Harry spun around at the angry voice of Dr. Shaw.

“You cannot believe who?” he asked coldly. She had been working with the Master, and he wanted nothing to do with her.

“The Doctor!” she said, pacing up and down.

“What?” he looked at her in confusion.

“He was supposed to show up and stop the Master! Why do you think I’ve been working with him?!”

“I... haven’t got a clue. Sorry.”

She continued to look furious for another moment, and then relaxed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” she said.

“Will that include more plans to take over the universe and shape it in your image? Or is it just Earth you’re interested in?”

She laughed at that. “No,” she said, and sat down on the chair recently vacated by the Master. “I have no interest in ruling the universe. Or Earth. To be honest, Mr. Potter, right now I’d much rather go back to planning how to build that moon base.”

“So that part was true?”

“It was all true. I really am working with the UN, and I did work with the Doctor for a while, before going back to my research.”

“And then the Master came and offered you a new job?”

“Actually,” she pursed her lips, “that was when the Master kidnapped me. About three weeks ago.”

“I - I didn’t realise - “

“It’s alright,” her face softened. “I know you didn’t.” She sighed. “You better sit down, you know. I’m not going to bark an order at you,” she hastened to add, probably as Harry’s annoyance showed again on his face, “it’s just that it’s straining my neck to look up at you.”

He sat down on the chair next to her. Looking at her more closely, he saw she was a lot more tired than he noticed earlier at the bar.

She didn’t waste time on niceties. “Like I said, I didn’t start out working with the Master. I haven’t met him before that, but there is plenty of information about him in UNIT’s files - that’s the organisation both I and the Doctor worked for, here on Earth. Apparently, he had spent quite a lot of time trying to take over the world. I’m not quite sure why,” she added with an exasperated look, “but presumably it has something to do with his rivalry with the Doctor, plans to take over the universe through taking over Earth, or both.”

“Sounds like a charming bloke.”

“Yes. Anyway, he knew I used to work with the Doctor. The Doctor had a newer assistant that had left the job a couple of years ago, but from what I gathered, she’s somewhere in the jungles of South America and it turned out to be much less of a hassle to kidnap me and hope the Doctor would hear about it and come rescue me than it was looking for her.” She pursed her lips again. It was obvious the idea of being kidnapped as bait was not one she was fond of.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Harry pointed out, “at least he didn’t kidnap you in order to murder you.”

She gave him a piercing look. “You have a point,” she said. “How old are you, again?”

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” she repeated, still thoughtful. But then smiled. “Anyway, obviously, I wasn’t going to sit around being bait and waiting to be rescued,” she said sensibly, “which turned out to be a pretty good thing, as it did take the Doctor three weeks to show up. I wish I could say I was surprised, at least a bit, but I’ve always had a feeling he can’t really drive that thing.”

“We - er, we - “ Harry wasn’t quite sure how to explain things to Dr. Shaw. He had a feeling she wouldn’t quite appreciate hearing they didn’t come for her at all.

“He didn’t even know I was kidnapped, did he?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“Not your fault. Quite typical of him, actually. Should have realised.”

“So what happened? How did you convince the Master to free you?”

“Just like I did with you - told the truth. I told him there’s no point in holding me prisoner waiting for the Doctor to arrive, and that I can be a very annoying prisoner, determined to escape. That he had no reason to assume I didn’t want the Doctor here as much as he did.”

“To stop him.”

“Yes,” she said, and her face darkened. “I expected him to come here, flash his sonic screwdriver, or whatever gadget he’s using these days, and put an end to this nonsense.”

Harry wanted to say that maybe the Doctor had gone with the Master with intention of stopping him far away from the humans, keeping them both - and perhaps, all of the people of Hogsmeade - out of danger’s way, but he had seen the expression on the Doctor’s face. And he remembered the Doctor’s words about his people. If he thought they were all dead and turned out to be wrong, how could Harry be sure he wouldn’t be tempted?

“How did you end up here, anyway?” he asked, trying to distract Dr. Shaw from the same train of thought.

“The Master brought us here. I’m not quite sure how, but after a while he realised the Doctor wasn’t coming, and did something... he’s got a Tardis too, anyway. I’m not sure it was as much a case of finding the Doctor, as it was finding a place the Doctor was likely to be.”

Harry thought of the Doctor’s own Tardis. They ended up in the Hog’s Head without any indication that this is where Marvin would be. They had no information except for the date, and yet the Tardis found a place for them - just like it found Dumbledore in the parallel universe.

“These machines look pretty clever,” he said.

“More clever than their Time Lords, that’s for sure,” she said darkly. “Well, I didn’t know anything about magic and wizards, of course. So the Master had to fill me in. And when we saw the two of you stepping out of the Doctor’s Tardis, he recognised you, and gave me a couple of details to keep your interest, and the rest you already know.”

“And I thought you were a witch,” Harry mused.

She snorted. “I didn’t quite feel like I was fitting in.”

“Oh, that’s not you, that’s just this place.”

“I’d think that - “ but Harry never learned what Dr. Shaw had thought. There was a commotion in the hallway - it sounded as if there were people struggling out there. Harry jumped to his feet, as did Dr. Shaw. Wand in hand, he tiptoed to the door, and opened it slowly.

The dim light pouring from out of their room had revealed quite the scene in the room next to theirs. In front of the door, one of the cloaked Death Eaters from bellow was crouching on the floor, held by the barman, Aberforth Dumbledore. As they were looking, the door opened to reveal the bearded figure of Albus Dumbledore. His face seemed almost as white as his beard, even in the semi-darkness of the hallway.

“What is this?” he demanded. “What is going on here?!” Behind him, the shawl-clad bat-like figure of Sybill Trelawney peeked from inside the room.

Harry looked at the scene, rooted to his place. He stared from Dumbledore to Aberforth to the Death Eater on the floor, whose identity he now knew. Severus Snape was struggling with Aberforth, demanding that he let go of him. His opponent didn’t seem to be giving his demands much attention. “What are you doing sneaking around?” he growled at Snape, and started pushing him down the stairs.

“Wait! Aberforth!” Dumbledore called, but his brother paid him not attention. Instead, he started dragging the struggling Snape down, into the pub. Dumbledore had drawn his wand, but hesitated. In some corner of his mind, Harry knew why: there was no way he could have cursed Snape without hitting Aberforth, and now that they were descending the flight of stairs, it could be dangerous. But despite knowing this, despite understanding it all, Harry couldn’t help but wanting to scream at Dumbledore, calling out to him to curse them, stop them, do something, anything, but don’t let Snape get away!

Dumbledore hesitated for a second, then darted forward with an agility that would have surprised anyone who did not know him, going after the two.

“Well!” said the soon-to-be Professor Trelawney. “What a rude young man! If he wanted to apply for a job, that is certainly not the way to go!”

“Stay here!” Harry snapped at her, and rushed to follow Dumbledore down the stairs.

He was, of course, too late. He reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Aberforth walking back into the pub, turning to see Dumbledore.

“He’s gone,” Aberforth said.

For a fleeting moment, Dumbledore’s face darkened in anger. But then, they just turned sad, and worried, and old. “I must go back to Ms. Trelawney,” he said quietly, “but the two of us need to talk.” He turned and climbed up the stairs, passing Harry without giving him a second thought.

“What the hell was that all about?” Dr. Shaw now came behind Harry in the stairs, bewildered with the unexplained incident. Harry couldn’t find it in him to explain to her, couldn’t even find his voice. Instead, he just walked to the bar and sat down.

She followed. One look at him, and she nodded to Aberforth. “I’ll have a butterbeer, give him a firewhiskey,” she said, and Harry didn’t bother to argue.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she told him. He just shrugged.

The butterbeer and firewhiskey arrived, but Harry didn’t feel like touching anything. His head was full of thoughts. Thoughts of the moment that had changed his life forever, thoughts of how he could have changed things, how he could have undone things... “Where’s the Doctor?!” he snapped suddenly, angrily. If the Doctor had been there, had he seen that moment, surely he couldn’t help but do something, stop Snape?

“What happened there?” she asked again, this time gently, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer her. Besides, what would he say? ‘My parents’ fate has just been sealed’? ‘The murderous psychopath is going to be after me from this day to the day he dies’? Wasn’t this what they had come here to do, anyway? Make sure this part of history plays as it should? Didn’t he have as much responsibility for it now as Snape, Snape who didn’t realise what he was doing, Snape who couldn’t guess the outcome of his foolish action, Snape who was off now, undoubtedly finding Voldemort and telling him the contents of the prophecy, Snape who was about to make the biggest mistake of his life? He was filled with anger as he imagined the young Death Eater, rushing to whisper into Lord Voldemort’s ear, as he thought of the older Snape, his face contorted with loathing as he faced Dumbledore the last time. But then he remembered that the loathing was self-loathing, that the man had hated himself at that moment, not Dumbledore, and he couldn’t help remember the young boy he saw in the Pensieve. The anger with Snape left him. He was more angry with himself, for knowing the meaning of Snape’s actions and still doing nothing. Angry with the Doctor, who was supposed to be here but disappeared on some fool’s dreams.

And at that very moment, the door opened again, and the Doctor and the Master, oblivious to everything that had just happened, walked in. As Harry looked at the Doctor, he realised that for the first time in days, the Doctor was smiling. It was not the big fake smile the Doctor hurried to put on when things went wrong. It was not the amusement at Harry, or the people around him, that superiority aura that Harry had seen a couple of times. It was not even the joy of adventure, the way the Doctor looked the first time they set foot on Messaline, before either could imagine the shape their adventure would take. It was happiness, pure and simple. Happiness that Harry had not seen before in the Doctor. Happiness at the company of another Time Lord? Happiness at the company of this specific Time Lord? Happiness at the prospect of changing the universe that had robbed the Doctor of his people? Harry didn’t know, but as he saw the Doctor walking into the room, excitement and happiness on his face every time he looked at the Master, he became full of fury. “Where the hell have you been?” he rounded up on the Time Lord. “We have work to do!”

the Doctor hesitated for a moment, looking from Harry to the Master to Harry again. “It’s... complicated,” he said at last.

“No,” said Harry coldly. “It’s simple. We do what we came here to do. And then we leave. Do you - ” Harry started, but then hesitated and looked around him. As much as he wanted to shout at the Doctor in his anger of the alien’s irresponsibility, and as much as the Doctor deserved it, he couldn’t do it in here. It would raise too many questions. “Come on,” he snapped, and walked outside of the pub. The Doctor followed.

“Do you know what just happened here? Do you know who we missed? Snape! Snape who just eavesdropped on Dumbledore and Trelawney! Snape who just heard the prophecy!” The Doctor looked shocked for a moment, but said nothing. Harry continued shouting. “And you were the one who said we can’t do anything to change that! You were the one who said the past has to remain the past! And now you’re planning to take over the universe with your buddy here? I thought you said your people are dead!”

“They are,” said the Doctor quietly, sadly. “For me. The Master... I don’t know how it happened. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“What shouldn’t have happened?” Harry cut across him, angry and unwilling to allow the Doctor to speak in riddles, as usual. He wanted answers, and he wanted them to be clear.

“Our timelines are supposed to always stay parallel to each other. We can travel in time, but not in our personal timeline. And something happened - maybe because of Marvin’s interference, I don’t know - but somehow either the Master had crossed his timeline into his future, or I crossed into my past. This is the Master as I’ve known him centuries ago.”

“So?”

“This is the Master before Gallifrey fell. For him, the Time Lords are very much alive.”

“But you can’t change that, you said so,” Harry said impatiently.

“I can’t, because the universe won’t be able to handle it! But don’t you see?” there was passion, weird passion in the Doctor’s eyes now, desperation and need. “If he can make it to Gallifrey, and if he could pull me through... I could be there! I could change things, for the better! Stop the war before it even started! With the technology of Gallifrey, none of the paradoxes are a danger! They don’t know what’s ahead, they don’t know what’s waiting them - oh, I know the Master doesn’t care, I know what he wants to do is terrible, but think about it! If I could use his plan to go there and make things better again... Can’t you see?”

“What about my parents? What about Voldemort? What about Marvin?”

“I destroyed them once,” the Doctor said, his voice trembling. “How can I turn down the chance to save them?”

“So the rules only apply to us humans, is that it?” Harry asked coldly, and didn’t wait for the Doctor’s reply. “But yeah. Of course they do. Your people have the power to wave their hand, and the entire universe changes. Your people can recreate the universe in their likeness, isn’t that what the both of you were saying, you and him? Go then. Go save your Time Lords. Go press a button and stop the Daleks from ever existing. I’ll stay here and deal with this on my own.”

He turned his back on the Doctor and walked back into the pub, seething. The Master smiled his cold smile as he went past him to rejoin the Doctor outside of the pub. After a moment, Harry could hear - or perhaps, imagined he could hear - a familiar whizzing sound, the sound of the Tardis as it left Earth. He was now alone, in 1980, and had to find and stop - on his own - a meddling time travelling wizard within the next two days with no idea of where he was. Assuming, of course, the universe didn’t implode on itself in the meantime because of these two meddling fools.

“What just happened?”

And he had a Muggle scientist who would be much better off back in the Muggle world and away from all of that. Assuming, of course, the universe didn’t implode on itself in the meantime, because if that happened, it wouldn’t matter where she was.

“What just happened?” Dr. Shaw asked again.

“They’re gone to take over the universe together,” Harry said savagely.

“What?” she said, shocked.

“Yeah. Listen, it isn’t safe for you here. I should take you back to London, or wherever it is you’re working from. They’re probably worried about you, and there’s nothing we can do here anymore. I guess your plan just didn’t work out that well.”

Her nose flared, and she crossed her arms as she stared at him. “I see. So I’m supposed to go back to my tiny little existent and let _the wizard_ take care of everything, then? Us Muggles can’t even help in stopping Time Lords, is that it?”

“No,” Harry said flatly. “I’m going to make sure my timeline ends up as it should, and then I guess I’m stuck here, too. I haven’t got a clue how to stop them, and I’m not planning to waste my time on trying to figure that out.”

“Well, then, maybe you do need me after all,” she said icily, “seeing as I worked with the Master for a couple of weeks and managed, somehow, to learn a thing or two of his plan.”

“You’re suggesting - “ Harry turned to her in amazement, “you’re suggesting we stop them?”

“That would seem to be the most reasonable option, yes.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Harry said quietly. “Maybe if they manage to take over Gallifrey, the Doctor can make things better. Maybe once he achieved that, the universe really would be a better place.” No more Daleks, no more Voldemort... anything could happen. Maybe his parents don’t have to die at all.

Dr. Shaw didn’t answer. Harry stared at the half-empty pub. The vampire now had an impressive amount of glasses in front of him. Aberforth, apparently, was not inclined to pick them up, but instead just kept on giving him new glasses with that blood-red liquid. A small witch was eating dinner at a table by the door. The noisy Death Eaters had already gone, and Harry did not know whether they left before or after Snape’s little initiative. From the top of the stairs, he could hear Dumbledore’s voice, who had just hired the newly instated Professor Trelawney.

“No, I must insist you move into the castle tonight. I cannot have one of my teachers stay in an inn when there’s a perfectly good room for you within Hogwarts. I’ll have Professor McGonagall come and escort you, and just by happy chance, you can be accompanied by my friend, Elphias Doge, who happens to be here tonight. He could help you carry your suitcases into the grounds. This is non negotiable, Professor.”

From her response, it was obvious Sybill Trelawney was quite too happy with her new found title to seriously object, and Professor Dumbledore had managed to immediately protect her without telling her a single thing about the danger she was in.

But next to him was Liz Shaw. A Muggle and unaware of the future, she did not get distracted by Dumbledore, or Trelawney, or prophecies or evil wizards or things that should happen, could happen, might happen. Just by what would happen. “Do you really trust the Doctor with the Master?” she asked. “Do you really believe that no matter what, the Doctor would be able to stop him?”

And would the Doctor really want to?

“I’m in,” he said, and took a sip from the firewhiskey, allowing the liquid to burn its way through his mouth and down his throat. He jumped from his seat and stood there facing her, giving her his hand. “Show me your magic.”


	14. What's Past Is Prologue (Part 3, Chapter 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eep. This was never supposed to take this long to load, so I'll just load the rest of it before life continues conspiring against me. Apologies again for all the delays.

As it turned out, they needed to get to Muggle London after all. The room in the Hog’s Head had been a temporary base, where Dr. Shaw - Liz, as she insisted he called her - was bored to death for a day, waiting for the Doctor to show up. Liz had spent most of the past three weeks in the Master’s company in his secret London base, where the advanced equipment with which he planned his invasion of Gallifrey was constructed.

This, of course, meant that the Master and the Doctor were probably already there. The only thing that Harry and Liz had in their favour, as she soon pointed out, was that while the base was made to avoid being detected by humans, the Master did not even consider wizards before. “He was quite shocked when we ended up here,” she said. He must have known about wizards, as he didn’t seem shocked at their existence, only that the Doctor’s travels would lead him to the Hog’s Head. He would have made his base impenetrable to forces like UNIT, not a wizard who could take a Muggle with him in a well-aimed side-along-Apparation.

“Does it hurt?” she looked slightly apprehensive when he told her that’s how they would be travelling, and what it entailed.

“Well, there are more comfortable ways to travel,” he admitted, and she sighed. But they had no time to waste. She described to him in detail the base and its location, and he closed his eyes, concentrated hard, and turned on the spot with her holding on to his arm.

When he opened his eyes again, they were no longer in the rainy street of Hogsmeade. In fact, they weren’t anywhere he’d ever seen. It was a long, well-lit corridor, shining and clean - the exact opposite of the Hog’s Head. There were doors in each direction, glass doors that stoor between them and what looked like strange, futuristic laboratories. Mountains of equipment cluttered each room, tubes and liquids and computers that looked to Harry’s eyes too advanced for 1998, let along 1980.

Liz, on the other hand, didn’t look at all surprised. “Are we here?” he whispered, and she nodded and started walking down the corridor.

He followed her deeper inside. She was stopping at every door and looking at the lab behind it, her expression becoming more and more confused. All of the labs were abandoned. No security measures seemed to be in sight. The Master must have really thought his complex was inaccessible to anyone but himself. After a couple of minutes, Harry started relaxing a bit. If they didn’t run into any trouble so far, maybe there was a chance this would actually end up alright?

And just as the thought entered his mind, and as if the universe was trying to chide him for his ill-considered optimism, they heard voices. Liz froze for a moment, looking straight ahead. From beyond the corner, the Master’s voice was clearly heard. “ - take the Artron emissions to - “

They needed to find a place to hide, and fast. Liz quickly opened the door nearest to them, a room full of petri dishes and microscopes. Both her and Harry rushed just in time under one of the tables and behind a counter, whose wooden body could hide them even through the glass doors.

Daring to have a look every couple of seconds, Harry could see the two Time Lords passing by. “C’mon,” he whispered to Liz. “Where they’re going is probably where we should be.”

Still crouching, he moved from the table towards the door. For a moment he thought the Doctor had noticed him: he stopped for a moment, as if listening to something. Harry froze, afraid that any movement or the slightest noise would give him away. But after a moment, the Doctor had resumed walking next to the Master. Still inside the lab, not daring to open the door and step outside to the corridor, Harry followed the two with his eyes. They kept on walking, until they arrived at a door at the other side of the corridor. The Doctor stepped inside, and the Master followed.

Liz, who had settled on the other side of the door, nodded. Slowly and quietly, she opened the glass door, and went out to the corridor. Harry followed, drawing his wand. They went next to the wall, stopping at every door to look inside and be sure it’s not the Master’s lab. After what seemed like forever, they made it to the right door. It was full of heavy computers and strange-looking machinery. At the centre, the Doctor and the Master were working, connecting wires and turning dials. Every once in a while one of them would say something and the other would crack a smile, or one would toss some parts at the other. At one point, they gave up working for a couple of seconds to toss back and forth a ball of wires at each other, the Master with cold amusement, the Doctor smiling gleefully, like a little boy.

If they wouldn’t have been two extremely powerful beings attempting to take over the universe, they could have just been two very old friends, having fun in each other’s company. Or maybe, Harry mused, they were both.

What now? he mouthed at Liz. She shrugged and pointed at the adjacent lab. He nodded, and they half-crawled, half-crouched inside. This one, too, was full of computers and heavy machinery. Some of the wires seemed to go through small holes in the wall straight into the next room, the laboratory in which the Doctor and the Master were working. An engine of sorts that must have been attached to one of the machines was making a lot of noise, but Harry realised that they could be certain not to be overheard that way, and was willing to suffer the noise. After the technology used by the Daleks on Messaline, he was reluctant to cast a spell and risk being discovered by the Time Lords.

Once the door was closed, and they were both in position to note anyone who would walk the corridor in either direction, Harry turned to Liz. “So what’s the plan?” he asked her.

“Well, my original plan was to break the power source. He needs a lot of power for those machines. Told me all about it, the arrogant idiot.”

“I guess he thought that being human, you wouldn’t understand,” said Harry reasonably, but Liz snorted.

“If you ask me,” she said, “I think it had more to do with being a woman. Or maybe both.”

“Well, that’ll teach him. So, where is the power source?”

Her face darkened.

“Inside the room?” he asked, and she nodded. “Okay, that might actually be a problem.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Although, even if they both manage to go through, we might still have a chance. The Master said that the power source would have to remain active for several minutes after they both go through before the transfer is complete with no side effects.”

“What side effects?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, theoretically, they can pass through to Gallifrey, we break the power source and the universe implodes as a side effect.”

“That would be bad, yes,” she said testily. “But unless they decide to nip out for dinner before taking over the world, we can’t count on them to leave that place before completing their work.”

“Well, it has been a while since we’ve had a decent meal,” Harry said as his stomach rumbled in agreement, but without real conviction. If the Doctor had managed so long without sleep, surely he didn’t feel hunger the way Harry did?

“I think we’re going to have to assume the universe would not implode just yet,” she said.

And then there were footsteps in the hallway, and they both froze. The Doctor stopped in front of their door, calling the Master. They were going to go inside. Harry looked desperately for counters or tables or cupboards, anything they could use for cover, but there were none in this room, only the machinery next to the wall.

There was nowhere to hide.

Any minute now they would open the door and discover the two intruders. He could kick himself - why didn’t he take his invisibility cloak with him? It would have solved so many problems.

There were other ways of turning someone invisible, of course. And he would have to hope that the Master didn’t have the same technology as the Daleks, or didn’t think of the possibility of wizards following him in. “Don’t panic,” he whispered to Liz, and tapped his wand over her head. The Disillusionment Charm worked immediately. With a surprised expression, she vanished in front of his eyes. Sighing with relief, he touched his wand to his own head, and the cold and wet sensation of the charm working its way through him engulfed him.

And just in time, too. As soon as he disappeared, the Doctor opened the door, and the Master followed him in.

“What’s this noise?” the Doctor asked, and the Master muttered something about an engine. He turned to one of the machines and turned it off. The engine coughed once, twice, and the room turned quiet.

“So this thing is attached to the power source?” asked the Doctor casually, pointing at the big machine that was now blissfully quiet.

“Yes.”

“Alright, you attach all those computers there, I’ll do the same thing here,” he said and walked straight towards Harry and Liz. The two squeezed as close as possible to the wall, trying to get out of his way without giving a sign of their existence. They were lucky - the Doctor might as well have been intentionally bypassing them. He didn’t notice a thing. Even as his leg brushed next to Harry’s arm, and the hair at the back of his neck stood in tension, the Doctor remained oblivious to their presence. He must be so enamoured by the Master, Harry thought in resentment, that he doesn’t notice a thing. But he couldn’t complain, of course, if indeed this was the reason they had remained undetected.

“What’s that?” the Master asked all of a sudden, pointing directly at them.

The Doctor looked in their direction, puzzled. “What’s what?” he asked.

“There’s something there! Next to your foot!”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing there. Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright! But I saw something...”

“Nah,” the Doctor said and waved his arm inches from Harry’s nose, causing Harry to hold his breath in horror. “I reckon you’ve been around here all by yourself for too long. Starting to see things, old chap.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t alone. I’ve had the company of the charming Ms. Shaw.”

“She is very charming, isn’t she,” the Doctor said with a nostalgic smile.

“Now, now, Doctor. We have work to do, it is not the time to find yourself in yet another nostalgic moment of self-pity.”

“Would you prefer delusions of grandeur?”

“My dear Doctor, you are soaking in those already.”

The Doctor smiled at these words again, his face lighting up. His eyes, that had looked old and weary from the first moment Harry had met him, seemed almost young. Despite Liz’s story of the rivalry between these two, it was obvious they had been friends far longer than enemies. Working together seemed like a second nature to them, a part of them that came as naturally as using their hands and talking. A part of the Doctor he must have missed for a long time, Harry thought with a pang.

But feeling sorry for the Doctor would lead them nowhere. What he was doing was still mad, and wrong, and Harry had to stop him.

The Doctor waved his sonic screwdriver around, and the machine started working again - this time with a higher pitch. Harry had to cover his ears with his hands. He felt as if the noise would soon cause his ears to bleed.

“What are you doing?” the Master demanded. Evidently, he did not enjoy the noise as well.

“If we want me to get through we’ll have to have more power,” the Doctor half-shouted over the noise. “I told you, I’m from after your time. I can’t just waltz into your Gallifrey, can I?”

“But does it have to make all that noise!”

“They’re your machines, not mine! If you’d rather do it on your own...”

The Master’s next words were completely unintelligible. The Doctor smiled, and kept on working.

After a few moments, Harry realised the Master was saying something.

“I said - “ he shouted again - “is this thing connected?!”

“Just about!”

“Well then, let’s get out of here!” He hurried towards the door, to escape the noise.

Once they were both gone, Harry turned to look for Liz. Since he knew she was there, of course, it was no trouble finding her. The Disillusionment Charm was not like an invisibility cloak - at least, not like his invisibility cloak. There were ways to locate a person who has been Disillusioned. There was just that extra depth, the line that didn’t quite fit, and then he could tap over her head with his wand and see her showing up again, her hands on her ears.

She opened her mouth and said something that looked like his name, but he couldn’t hear a word. The machines were drowning everything. Instead, he tapped with his wand over himself and gestured towards the door once he was visible again. They opened it carefully and sneaked outside.

“Finally!” Liz whispered. “I was starting to get a headache.”

“Yeah.”

“What was that thing you did - you can make us invisible?”

“Sort of invisible... but it works well enough, I guess. If you know someone’s out there and try real hard, you can sort of see them. Maybe we should try it again, that way we won’t have to run back inside every time they come out.”

She nodded, but looked reluctant. “Does it have to feel so... slimy?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “That’s the way it is.”

“Alright,” she said, and he tapped his wand on her head again, and then at his.

“We better wait next to the door, and get inside whenever they open it,” he whispered.

“Alright,” she whispered back.

He would have attempted opening the door himself, but with the Master already apparently suspicious something was going on, he didn’t want to risk it. They would have several minutes after the Time Lords leave. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt - what if they end up dead? What if he gets the Doctor stranded or killed or frozen? He wanted to tell himself that the Doctor had made his choice, but couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the Time Lord. The Doctor was sitting next to a table, flashing his sonic screwdriver at something or other. In front of him, the Master was sitting and connecting cables.

“You know, Doctor,” the Master said suddenly, “I didn’t quite think this plan of mine will work.”

“Well, it’s not working yet, not until we finish connecting these couplings,” the Doctor said without raising his head.

“No, you fool, not that plan.”

“Oh?”

The Master threw a small box at the Doctor, who put down the sonic screwdriver and took it in both hands. “What’s that?” he asked.

“A - jamming device, don’t these Earthlings call it?”

The Doctor examined the box without saying anything.

“You see, it was hard for me to imagine a time when my dear friend, the Doctor, would find it appropriate to help my plans. I rather thought you had shared my dreams only when you were younger, much younger than this.”

The Doctor gave the box an experimental shake, apparently ignoring the Master’s words. “It’s connected to the Tardis?”

“Indeed. It’s a two-way deal, of course. First make sure it is the right incarnation that is lured back to Earth, then find where it is you’ve gone. It’s taken so long I was starting to think my plan had failed and you were not coming at all. And then you showed up. What is it, Doctor?”

“I’m sorry?”

Harry wasn’t fooled for a moment. He knew the Doctor had heard the Master’s words well enough. He just didn’t want to answer. And the Master knew it too - he gave a loud, hearty laughter.

“Come now, Doctor. Let us not play games. When we were young you had that sense of adventure! But ever since... well, I couldn’t possibly imagine you would come to my help, especially not against the Time Lords. I thought I would have the younger, foolish adventurer with the dreams of grandeur, but instead, I got - you. What has happened to change your mind?”

The Doctor stared intently at the box. “I haven’t seen Gallifrey for so long,” he said wistfully.

“Ah. I see your exile has finally changed your mind about the Time Lords.”

The Doctor just kept on staring.

Harry, in turn, was staring at the Doctor so intently, that he hadn’t noticed the Master had moved. It was Liz who noticed that Harry was standing right in the Master’s path. She grabbed at his arm and pulled him out of the Master’s way, but being unable to see Harry properly, she caught him with too much force, and Harry almost toppled over her, gaining his balance in the very last second.

The Master, standing at the foot of the glass door, froze in place. He stared for a long moment at the place Harry had been standing only a second ago.

“Doctor?” he called.

“Yeah?”

“Come here for a second.”

“I’m right in the middle of something here, can’t it wait?” the Doctor complained.

“No.”

He stepped outside as well, giving the Master a look of impatience. “What is it now?” he asked.

The Master pointed directly at Harry. Harry had a sinking feeling that even if the Master couldn’t actually see him, he could sense something of their presence. Were Time Lords telepathic? “Do you see anything there?” he asked the Doctor.

The Doctor rubbed his ear impatiently. “Haven’t we been through this before? There’s nothing here.”

“Are you sure your wizard friend isn’t here?”

Harry’s hopes were gone. He knew they were there. He must have.

“Harry? Nah,” the Doctor answered, the impatience all but gone from his voice, replaced with sadness. “He went to finish what we came here to do. He’s much more responsible than I am. He sees things through to the end.”

Harry could feel uncertainty filling him. Did he make the wrong choice? Was he allowing Marvin to escape by following the Doctor here? After all, the Tardis had brought them into the Hog’s Head intentionally.

“Well, if you’re sure,” the Master said, still sceptic. “I will now fetch the Tardis. Keep on working.”

“Take your time,” the Doctor called after him. The Master didn’t reply, but went down the corridor.

The Doctor looked at him leave, then turned to look directly where the Master was pointing at a second before, directly at Harry. And then - he opened his mouth to speak.

“We need to time this exactly right, or we don’t have much of a chance. The Master will only be gone for a couple of minutes. Once he is back, the two of us will connect his Tardis to the machines. In theory, this is supposed to allow him to enter Gallifrey undetected. The official plan is that he then will connect a small device to the defence screen there, boosting the signal and allowing me through, but I don’t think he has any intentions to follow that part of the plan. We are going to have to break the connection while he’s in flight. It’s going to be a bit longer than usual, with the tinkering we had to do in order to get him to Gallifrey undetected, but that’s still not a lot of time. Harry, as soon as the Tardis starts disappearing, I’m going to need you to aim a a really strong curse at a very specific area of one of the machines here. It has to be strong and it has to be precise. Can you do that?”

“But - what - “

“No time to explain!” the Doctor snapped. “Leave it for later. We have a minute, at most. Can you do it?”

“Just show me where to hit,” Harry answered, keeping all the questions he had at bay.

“Brilliant.” The Doctor now opened the door, and both Harry and Liz walked through. The Doctor walked them to one corner of the room, right next to a large mirror. He then pointed at one of the machines that the two had connected earlier with the next laboratory.

“The blue little lever at the centre of that thing,” he said, and Harry nodded, and then, not sure whether the Doctor could actually see him or just sense him in some way, cleared his throat. “No problem,” he said.

“Brilliant. Now shush, he’s coming back.”

And indeed - the whizzing sound of the Tardis - or rather, Harry thought now, a Tardis - was becoming more and more pronounced. And then - Harry blinked, and it was gone again, but there it was! As if blinking in and out of existence, another machine showed up for a second, then disappeared, then showed up again. It looked exactly like the computers, the power supplying machines and the other equipment in the room: metallic, heavy, full of small lightbulbs and tubes and wires. But unlike the rest of the machines, the front part of the thing opened, and the Master stepped out. Harry got a glimpse of the inside - it wasn’t a dark cupboard, or full of wires. Instead, it was just like the Doctor’s Tardis. It was bigger on the inside, even if it shone in strong white light instead of the more comfortable gold and green of the Doctor’s Tardis.

“Well, Doctor?” the Master asked.

“Just in time,” the Doctor finished typing something into one of the computers, and tuned around. “All ready to go.”

“Now now, I better have a look at the code myself. Wouldn’t want to find myself on the other side of the galaxy, now, would I?”

The Doctor only smiled, without humour, and said nothing. Instead, he took a long cable, and walked with it into the Tardis. “You’d want to connect this when you’re done,” he said.

It didn’t take the Master long to check the Doctor’s work. “Excellent, excellent,” he muttered, and walked towards the Tardis where he connected the cable to one of the panels out front.

“Wait for my signal, Doctor,” he said. “You better spend the time I’m gone bringing your own Tardis here.”

“Good luck,” the Doctor said, and the Master nodded.

“Good luck,” he said and stepped into the Tardis again. After a couple of seconds, the familiar whizzing sound started again.

“Harry, now!” the Doctor shouted and took his own sonic screwdriver out of his pocket.

Harry pulled out his wand and aimed it directly at the blue lever. “Diffendo!” he shouted - but nothing happened.

The Doctor was busy with another machine. “What’s the delay?” he shouted over the noise. “Get on with it!”

The whizzing sound was starting to fade. The Tardis could barely be seen. A soft noise - laugher? - could be heard. “Harry!” the Doctor shouted.

“Reducto!” Harry shouted again. That did it. The machine burst into flames. The Tardis completely disappeared.

Harry stood for a moment, staring at the Doctor. Then, remembering again his invisibility, he tapped himself, the Liz. The Doctor said nothing.

“Did it work?” he asked. The Doctor just scanned the room with the sonic screwdriver.

And then, the Doctor’s face broke into a small grin. “I think it did, yes.”

“Where did he end up?”

“Oh, on Gallifrey.”

“On Gallifrey? But you said - “

“On Gallifrey, yes. But now how and where he expected. I’m afraid the Master won’t forgive me as easily for what has happened to him now,” the Doctor sighed, but for some reason, Harry had the feeling he was almost nostalgic. “I remember how his body looked, the next time I met him. It was... unpleasant.”

“His body?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Let’s say... I’m afraid he won’t be wearing any more black and red robes for a while.” The Doctor smiled again, but this time with sadness. He was not happy to do this to a man who had once been his friend, this much was obvious - and perhaps, not happy to do this to the one relic of home he had left.

“Anyway, you were brilliant! Well done. And you - “ he turned to Liz, and only now seemed to register her expression fully. She was not pleased. Instead, she looked at him with cold fury, her arms crossed on her chest. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, angry. “Just that I’ve been kidnapped because of you, had to spend three weeks with that raging psychopath because of you - “

“ - Well, I wouldn’t say ‘raging’ as such,” he started, but stopped when he met her gaze, looking sheepish.

“ - And,” she continued as if not interrupted - “and, you show up here, after years of not even saying hello, with wizards and magic _for a whole other reason entirely_ and pretend to be working with him?! And all you have to say for yourself is...” she looked confused for a moment. “What were you saying, exactly?”

“That you were magnificent,” he said earnestly. “Absolutely magnificent. And I couldn’t have done it without you,” he added.

“Well,” she said, still frowning, but Harry had the feeling she was struggling to keep her anger with the Doctor.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and her face broke into a smile. The Doctor opened his arms and hugged her, and after a second her confused expression had changed into something softer, and she hugged him back. “Dr. Shaw!” he said, all excited and happy, and when he let go he looked at her again, pride radiating from his face. “My Liz,” he said. “Thank you.”

She looked at him again, and now had affection in her expression, and slight exasperation. “It’s been a long time, Doctor.”

“Longer than you think,” he said quietly, but then his face brightened again. “And, if I remember correctly, and my memory is very good, you’ve left Cambridge and are working with the Brigadier again, aren’t you? Building a moon base?”

“How do you know about that?” she looked at him suspiciously, but then laughed. “If I’ve ever met an alien as nosy as you are...”

He just laughed as well. “You’ll do magnificently,” he said. “And, mind you, you might find some useful things in here. Better call UNIT to come and pick this up. Don’t leave this place empty, though. The energy spike must have registered on every piece of technology Torchwood have, and we really don’t need them to come scavenging.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of them as well, then?”

He just smiled.

“But why did you make us think you’re working with him?” she asked.

For the first time Harry had seen him, the Doctor looked ashamed. “I didn’t. Not at first. When the Master... it’s been a while, Liz. I’m afraid I can’t say too much, but things have changed. With my people. When we came to the Hog’s Head, I felt the presence of the Master, and realised what that must mean, and then he showed up with this fantastic plan.”

“You were tempted to fix it all? From the past?” she asked, perhaps a bit too knowingly.

The Doctor nodded. “His machine worked remarkably well. It really did find me at the time I was most likely to be tempted by his offer.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked softly.

“Harry.” He looked at Harry with pride. If there was something resembling yearning in his gaze, Harry pretended he didn’t see it. “He made some very good points about the responsibilities of a Time Lord.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. He thought he could imagine how the Doctor must feel, and why the knowledge he was doing the right thing could never quite take that haunting feeling away, that question. What if? It would keep on nagging at the back of his mind.

“Don’t be,” the Doctor said in a loud voice, as if dismissing the whole thing. “You were right. Besides, it’s not worth doing it. Not for Time Lords. If I ever feel like breaking the most fundamental laws of time, it should be for you. Humans!” he called all of a sudden and collected Harry for a hug. “You’re brilliant!”

Liz laughed and shook her head. “If only the Brigadier could hear you now,” she said and then laughed even harder at the Doctor’s mortified expression. “Don’t worry. I won’t be the one to tell him. As long as you don’t do it again,” she added sharply.

The Doctor looked genuinely relieved. “I would have told you, but - well, there was no way of explaining things to you without telling him. And then I saw you there - “

“So you did see us?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, it was becoming a bit hard not to step all over your toes. Also, I could see you through the door before you used the Disillusionment charm. Had to start up all the machines in order to distract the Master!”

“Oh,” said Harry sheepishly. He should have realised, of course.

“Which reminds me - “ the Doctor said and pointed his sonic screwdriver at one of the machines. A terrible lurching sound came from it and it stopped abruptly. He then pointed the sonic at three other machines, and did the same. “UNIT shouldn’t have access to these yet, either,” he said.

“Speaking of which, I better go call them,” Liz said, and the Doctor nodded. “The telephone’s that way, if I’m not mistaken?” she said and started going down the hall.

The Doctor watched her going. It was as if she realised this, as all of a sudden she stopped and turned around. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?” she asked.

“You were always clever,” the Doctor answered, and she only replied, “And you’ve always underestimated me.”

He nodded. There wasn’t any point to deny it or argue about it. “You’ve done better without me,” he said.

“Probably,” she agreed. “But I still missed the excitement every once in a while. They said you took off a couple of months ago, with a young journalist and one of UNIT’s doctors. I hope you’re going to give them an adventure.”

He nodded again, and she went to him and after a moment’s hesitation hugged him again, if somewhat awkwardly. “Good luck,” he murmured, and she just laughed and said, “Funny, I was about to say that same thing.”

She broke form the hug and turned to Harry, offering her hand, and he took it gladly. “And good luck to you, too. I won’t even pretend to understand what you’re involved in.”

He nodded too, unable to explain. A weight was starting to form again at the bottom of his stomach, something that had been blissfully postponed in this unexpected adventure.

“Well - goodbye,” she said, and without even waiting for the Doctor’s response, walked down the again and was gone from sight.

“Goodbye, Dr. Elizabeth Shaw,” the Doctor whispered behind her.

And then he turned to Harry. “C’mon,” he said, “we need to get going!”

Harry followed him, his legs made of lead. The blue Tardis door didn’t look so inviting anymore, and the gold and green lights of the room weren’t the warm comfort he remembered. He was full of dread of their next step, dread he didn’t allow himself to think about as long as they were chasing maniacal Time Lords and aliens who wanted to take over the world, but now he could no longer deny it.

“Where are we going?” he asked in a voice that didn’t sound much like his own.

“Back to the Hog’s Head,” the Doctor’s response sounded almost cheerful, almost callous, but Harry had a feeling that once again, it wasn’t completely honest. “Back to where the Tardis brought us.”

“So you think Marvin might be there?”

“Oh, no. It’s not Marvin we’re supposed to meet there, and if we don’t hurry, we might miss him.”

Harry nodded. He had no idea what the Doctor was talking about, but was too occupied to try and figure it out.

The central column went up and down, once, twice, and was still. But the Doctor was still staring at it, as if he didn’t realise they had reached their destination.

Harry, too, wasn’t looking forward to leaving the Tardis behind them. Not yet. “Doctor?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” the Doctor sounded flat, distracted, deep in thoughts.

“What were they like? your people?”

And the Doctor turned around in surprise and despite his reluctance told Harry a story of a culture that had lasted ten million years and Harry listened with eyes opened wide and what was supposed to be a another way to delay the inevitable became a fascinating story of people who were kind and good and knew the dangers of their own power and did their best to let the universe continue. No matter what. The existence of a universe that no longer even remembered them, except for myths and whispers, was to be their legacy, the Doctor said, and Harry nodded and didn’t say a word when the Time Lord’s voice became slightly choked and he averted his gaze, and when he suddenly jumped and announced it was time to go, he said nothing again, and only followed.


	15. What's Past Is Prologue (Part 3, Chapter 4)

They were, again, at the entrance to the Hog’s Head, and again, the Doctor opened the door.

This time, the pub was completely empty. Chairs were raising themselves onto the tables and out of the way as a mop and a bucket moved around on their own, cleaning the floor.

On the far corner two men argued. The first was tall, with a long silvery beard and his his silhouette revealed the crooked, broken nose even in the dim light. The other was just as tall but with a somewhat shorter beard, his garments simple, and his voice raised.

“Maybe I should just announce to the entire world my membership in the Order? I thought you yourself admitted this place is more useful to you when no one knows where exactly I stand!”

“I am not suggesting that,” Albus Dumbledore had replied his brother with a carefully controlled voice, “only that you keep a better eye on who you’re allowing in.”

“How was I supposed to know he would hear anything important?” Aberforth muttered. “I asked you, Albus. You said it was nothing out of the ordinary and no Order - hey, you two!” he shouted at Harry and the Doctor, finally aware of their presence. “It’s closed, can’t you read?”

“I thought it was an inn,” the Doctor said pleasantly.

“Well, it’s a closed inn,” Aberforth retorted.

“Even for friends of Albus Dumbledore?”

Now Dumbledore turned to look at the intruders as well. He surveyed them for a moment, then walked with fury towards them. His face was still white, just as it was when Harry had seen him before. The worried look in his eyes was also an echo of the earlier scene. Albus Dumbledore seemed just as shaken now as he had been when he first realised what was the prophecy he was hearing, and who had overheard it.

“I have never met you in my life,” he pronounced to Harry’s astonishment, in a pleasant but resolute voice. “If you have have any business with me, I’m afraid now isn’t the best of times.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor reflected, but with a sparkle in his eyes. “You always were too busy for an adventure. Practically had to beg you to come with me the first time round. Mind you, then I had to beg you to leave, but that was a whole different story - you’d like that one,” he said that last sentence to Harry, with a mischievous smile.

Dumbledore furrowed his brow. “Doctor?” he asked at last, unsure. The Doctor’s wide smile seemed to confirm Dumbledore’s suspicion. But instead of greeting him in open arms, the way he had done in the parallel reality, Harry was surprised to see him treating the Doctor in hesitation, almost suspicion. “It’s alright,” he called to his brother. “I know him. You can lower your wand. And you,” he looked again at the Doctor, “came to solve all of our problems?” he asked in sarcasm.

“I do believe we’ve discussed this particular subject before,” said the Doctor in a not-unpleasant tone, but one that sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore’s own when he made it clear the topic was not open for discussion.

“Then why are you here? Why now, why this day, why this place?”

The Doctor seemed to hesitate, then answered, “Because we need your help.”

The word ‘we‘ must have triggered Dumbledore’s curiosity. Instead of looking at the Doctor, he looked at Harry, scanning him from head to toe. If he noticed his resemblance to James Potter, or the scar on his forehead, he said nothing. Instead he sighed. “When you need help, Doctor, none of us can afford to refuse. Although,” he said sharply, “showing up today, of all days, makes me wish you would explain yourself, just this once.”

Behind him, Aberforth snorted.

The Doctor ignored him and shook his head at Dumbledore. “I can’t,” he said. “I would if I could. We need to find a Death Eater.”

“Any one in particular? Or would any Death Eater do?”

And that was it. No more questions, no arguments, no resentment. The way, Harry thought with a pang of guilt, he probably should have acted, more than once. Dumbledore must trust the Doctor unconditionally, but even though he would have loved to hear the story of how that happened, he knew this was one story neither Albus Dumbledore nor the Doctor were likely to share.

“He’s called Marvin,” he said instead, strangely eager to have one more conversation with Albus Dumbledore, even if he couldn’t reveal his identity, even if the conversation was strictly business, and even if he was unable to mention any of the many things he still had to say to him. “He’s got dark hair and a beard. In his twenties, but he didn’t attend Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore was nodding slowly. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “I believe I know the individual you are referring to.”

“Albus,” Aberforth started, but his brother raised his hand.

“You were right. It was an unfortunate accident, although I would have liked it to have the place more... at any rate, no need to discuss it further.”

Aberforth seemed like he would very much like to discuss it further, but nodded stiffly. After all these years, he learned to accept his brother with all his frustrating habits. “I take it you’ll be gone, then?”

“Yes. I will try and locate this - individual. But first, there is one other thing I must do.”

It was at this point that Harry’s tiredness, the result of the almost unending day and its various crises had overcome him, and he yawned loudly. “Er, sorry, Pr - Mr. Dumbledore,” he said apologetically.

“We’ve had a very long day,” the Doctor said thoughtfully.

“Well, better not stay here, I think,” Dumbledore cast a glance at his brother. “There’s been enough excitement in the Hog’s Head for one day, and I do believe my brother has run out of free rooms. Come with me - I have to see someone about an urgent matter, and I think I might be able to arrange accommodations for you there. For one night only, of course.” He cast a glance at Harry again, but didn’t say anything more.

“For one night,” the Doctor agreed.

With a small nod to Aberforth, Dumbledore left the pub, and the Doctor and Harry followed. Dumbledore saw the Tardis, parking inconspicuously near the pub, and chuckled. “As always, Doctor, park everywhere?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I think it would be better to leave the Tardis here today. I trust you can Apparate?” he turned to Harry now.

Harry nodded slowly. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to - finding himself on the run so shortly after his seventeenth birthday, he never had the chance to take an Apparation test. Then again, considering he wasn’t even born yet, he doubted that mattered much.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied with the answer, at any rate. “Very well,” he said, “I will only guide you towards the location. Doctor, I’m afraid that unless you have learned to Apparate in the years since we last met, you will have to grab hold of my arm.”

“Always been a pleasure,” the Doctor muttered. Dumbledore offered him his right arm, his left armed held by Harry, and the three turned around in place. Harry felt the familiar squeezing feeling, and then - it was over. They had reached their destination.

Like he would do many years from now, Dumbledore did not take them directly to their destination. Instead, they Apparated into the middle of a small town, by the side of a war memorial, which Harry mostly ignored - all war memorials tended to look the same to him. They had obviously left Scotland; the night sky was dark, the rain had not reached this far south, and the air was warm and pleasant. It was the perfect summer evening in July, in a small unknown village.

But as Dumbledore started walking down a small street, Harry thought of the small village at winter. Snow would cover the pavement, painting it white. The small houses would also be painted white, studded with small stars - Christmas lights. There would be trees everywhere, decorated, a drunk man would come out of the pub, and in the small cemetery...

Harry stopped dead. He had seen this place at winter. The streets covered in snow, the church and the Christmas carols and the small cemetery, that soon would have another two graves.

They had come to Godric’s Hollow.

And the urgent visit Dumbledore had to make, the people on whose hospitality they would intrude - yes, Dumbledore had stopped now next to a wooden gate, a wooden gate that would have a memorial sign magically attached to it in years to come. He was walking down the path that in slightly more than a year would lead to a house, its second floor destroyed with the rebounded curse, never to be rebuilt, and now he knocked at the door and beckoned them to join him and Harry’s legs moved by themselves because he couldn’t possibly imagine giving them the order to move and the woman opened the door and she was so visibly pregnant and her face had lit up at the sight of Albus Dumbledore and she called her husband and there he was with his messy black hair and he was just Harry’s height and Harry could do nothing but stand there and stare.

Waves and waves of shock went over Harry. He could not believe his eyes, could not comprehend how fate could be so kind and so cruel at the same time that he would end up here, if all places, at this time. And he went to the door and the Doctor introduced him only as Harry - “Oh, I love that name! We’re thinking of calling him Harry,” she laughed and pointed at her belly and James embraced her affectionately - and Harry shook their hands and smiled, but all the time felt as if it were someone else entirely doing these things. Lily asked if he was related to James, as they looked so much alike, and the Doctor joked about how all magical families are related to one another and shrugged it at that. James didn’t seem to mind that explanation, even if Lily still looked slightly confused. And soon James made them a cup of tea and they stayed in the kitchen while Albus Dumbledore gave the Potters the bad news, or a heavily edited version of them.

Harry doubted he would tell them what really happened. Not just who had heard the prophecy, but that there was a prophecy at all, or that it concerned their yet unborn son. No, he would probably just tell them that he had reasons to believe Voldemort was after them. They sat at the kitchen to give Dumbledore privacy with the couple, but through the open door they could see Lily sway and sit down, James turning white as a ghost, the two of them holding each other, trying to comfort each other when each of them was so scared. Dumbledore didn’t seem comforting, didn’t seem to try to find a way to sweeten the pill. He just sat there at the Potters’ living room and told them how, from this day onwards, their time was limited, their fate sealed. And all Harry could do was watch from the corner of his eye, through the open door of the kitchen and into the living room, like a stranger, an intruder on this moment. But he didn’t care. He wanted to see.

So he’s watching as Lily puts her hand on her belly, thinking of her unborn son, her other hand seeks James. With his right hand he embraces her, supports her shoulders from sagging, with his left he finds her belly, too, and puts his own palm on hers. They’re both trembling, looking at each other and looking so lost. His head meets hers and he whispers something in her ear, something that makes her face break with a smile despite the paralysing fear. He kisses her tenderly and she responds gladly and their hug becomes tighter, and now she’s able to show a calm face to Dumbledore and he looks brave and flippant again and says something that makes her giggle and even Dumbledore breaks a smile. In the kitchen, Harry is watching them and he’s smiling as well, his grief now mixed with admiration and pride at the bravery of his parents. Only when Dumbledore gets up to leave and James jumps up to follow does it occur to Harry that his parents are hardly older than he is right now. It’s not fair, he thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud, just stares at his tea. He can feel the Doctor’s gaze, not on his parents but on himself, but he pretends he doesn’t see it. It’s not fair, he thinks again while attacking a biscuit so that he has something to do with his hands, they had so many years ahead of them.

“Harry,” the Doctor is saying, but Harry cuts across him.

“It’s okay,” he says, and is surprised to hear how calm his voice sounds, so different from what he feels inside. “We’re going on with the plan.” The Doctor nods, and doesn’t say anything else.

The front door closes. Dumbledore is gone.

Before he left, he had told them he would explain things to the Potters in a way that did not raise too many questions. He had many things to do that night, he said, and it might take a while to locate the rogue Death Eater, but he assured them he would do his best and employ all of his resources to the task. When the Doctor comes to you for help, he said half jokingly, half seriously, you don’t say no. The Potters did eye them with interest when they arrived, but they seemed to hold a similar philosophy - when Albus Dumbledore asks you for a favour, you don’t say no. They didn’t quite understand who the two were, but didn’t question Dumbledore’s judgement. But that was before Dumbledore had given them the bad news.

And now that he was gone, they didn’t make a fuss, either. It took James several minutes to come back to the kitchen. By then Harry’s face was dry and he could pretend to be having a lively conversation with the Doctor, pretend to be oblivious to the Potters’ distress.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” James said quietly, his voice tense. “There’s been a lot of - “

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry immediately said, not wanting to hear his father apologising for the circumstances. James eyed him for a second, as if wondering what exactly did he know, but didn’t ask. Perhaps Dumbledore had reassured them that their unexpected guests knew nothing, perhaps he told them they were to be left alone.

“Lily’s arranging the living room. I’m afraid we don’t have anything better to offer.”

“Really, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Harry said again. “I’m sure it’ll be alright.” And as if to stress his point, he gave a big yawn at the moment. “At this point, a blanket on the floor would be fine.”

“Well,” Lily joined them from the living room, “we’re all set. If you’d like something to eat, or more tea, it’s no problem.” She was still pale, but spoke to them with a pleasant voice, in a matter-of-fact manner. Had he not known it, he would never had guessed what she had been told only minutes before.

Harry swallowed the rest of his biscuit. “I’m fine, really.”

She looked at him, studying him for a moment. “Are you sure you’re not a relative of James?” she asked.

“I probably am,” he muttered. “We probably have some common grandfather or something.”

“But you didn’t go to Hogwarts,” she said, and he was shook his head quickly. Twenty years old, they would be sure to remember he was not around for their last years, even if he claimed to be younger than he was.

“Yeah, we’re not exactly from around her,” the Doctor piped in.

“Where are you from, then? Dumbledore mentioned a place called Gallifrey, but I have never heard of it in my life. Is that in Ireland?”

“It’s - eh - “

“Because I’m pretty sure we had Irish kids in Hogwarts. Didn’t we? James?”

“Yeah, there was Callum Lynch in our year from Ravenclaw, wasn’t there?” James said, sounding distracted.

“It’s in the Channel Islands,” Harry spluttered.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said sharply. “There’s a magic school in the Channel Islands.”

“The Channel Islands,” Lily repeated, sounding doubtful.

“Yup. Guernsey. it’s in Guernsey. Nice place.”

“Loads of sheep,” Harry added unhelpfully.

“How many wizards are there in the Channel Islands?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” said the Doctor, completely truthful.

Lily shot a glance at her husband and raised her eyebrows. It was obvious the Potters thought their guests were just as weird as Dumbledore was, but it was just as obvious they weren’t going to become rude towards the duo. Instead, Lily showed them their temporary beds.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more of a hostess,” she said quietly but with determined cheerfulness. “It’s been a long day and it’s rather late and I’m a bit tired.”

“No, it’s alright, it’s not like you were expecting us and with...” Harry almost mentioned Dumbledore’s news, but faltered.

The Doctor picked up his unfinished sentence. “And with Dumbledore’s way of dropping things on people, we really didn’t expect anything. We’re just happy to have a bed for the night.”

“And you’ll be leaving tomorrow?” she asked, perhaps more harshly than she should have, but Harry didn’t blame her.

“Yes. We’re waiting for some information from Dumbledore, but once that’s done, we’ll be gone.”

“Yes, he said - he said you’re doing something to help defeat - Voldemort,” she almost whispered the name, and for a fleeting moment she looked terrified again, but then she relaxed. “He didn’t say what, of course. Just that it’s important.”

Harry couldn’t find it in him to reply. The Doctor gave an non-committal “Yup,” and shot his glance at Harry, as if afraid Harry might say something despite his promise.

“Then we’ll be happy to help you with whatever you need,” she said determined, and Harry felt a rush of admiration for her again, followed by a stab of longing. How wonderful it could have been, to grow up with her as his mother, with her and James as proper parents? But he didn’t say a word. The Alternate Snape’s story was still fresh in his mind, the nightmare world, James’ fate... and not just them but the people who lived and died in the correct timeline, died protecting him, like Sirius, and Dumbledore, and Lupin...

He remained quiet long after Lily retired to bed, after James quietly washed the dishes and followed her. The Doctor tried to engage him in conversation - “The Channel Islands? Really?” - but he shrugged him off, his thoughts too occupied with the people upstairs to register the Doctor’s silly banter. He thought of them in the darkness, and when he fell asleep, he dreamed of them. He dreamed of their ghostly figure, coming out of Voldemort’s wand in the graveyard, encouraging him and protecting him. He dreamed of them, appearing more real and corporeal as he turned the stone three times, his mother encouraging him and his father smiling at him, and they held hand in hand like they did today, and Lily’s belly was big, she was pregnant and radiant and happy that she finally was going to see her son, all grown up. But then he stepped into the forest and dropped the stone and it was only him and Voldemort. And Voldemort raised his wand and he was dead.

“ - Should wake him up?” he heard a voice whispering. It wasn’t dark anymore. It must be morning already, and he barely felt rested at all. He didn’t get up, though. There was something sweet in the voice that spoke, something comforting.

“Nah,” another voice said, and he recognised it as the Doctor. “He could use the sleep.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s getting a lot of rest, though,” said the sweet voice again, Lily Potter’s voice. She sounded sceptical. “He had a nightmare during the night as well, I went down for a bit of water and heard him. Moaning.”

“He’s been through a lot lately,” the Doctor said in affectionately. “And I’m afraid it’s not quite over yet. But he’ll be alright in the end.”

“And you?”

“Me? I’m always alright!” He sounded a bit too cheerful to be sincere.

“That thing, on his neck... You’re really fighting Voldemort?”

“Only indirectly, I’m afraid.”

Harry half-opened one eye. The Doctor and Lily were sitting at the table. The Doctor was looking keenly at Lily, but she was staring into her mug. He tried to study her, to have her image burned into his mind: her dark red hair, neatly combed and shining in the morning sun; her light green shirt, almost the same colour as her eyes, covering her big belly elegantly.

“I guess I was hoping... if Voldemort did that to him and he lived, or if you’ve fought him... maybe you can give us a couple of tips,” she raised her gaze to look at the Doctor and smiled weakly, almost apologetically at him, as if she was a little girl, asking for something she knew was impossible, but asking anyway.

Now it was the Doctor’s turn to look at his coffee mug, looking so sad. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she nodded and said nothing. Shifting her gaze, she looked through the doorway into the living room and saw Harry, still lying down on the mattress set for him, but his eye open, looking at her. He blinked and sat up, feeling like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He smiled at her, but by then she just looked away, back to her coffee mug. He rubbed his eyes, pulled the - now smelly and quite dirty - shirt over his head, and got up.

“Good morning,” the Doctor said.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Lily started getting up, but Harry stopped her.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I can manage. Where are the mugs?”

He just sat down next to her with a mug full of steaming coffee when the doorbell sounded off. Before either of them could get up and answer the door, James rushed from upstairs, skipping half the stairs and opened it with a bang. He seemed disappointed to see Dumbledore on his doorstep - evidently, he had been expecting someone else.

“I’ve come to pick up your guests,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, and James showed him in.

“Who were you expecting?” Lily asked gently, and James looked almost abashed.

“I sent Sirius an owl last night,” he answered quietly. “Hoped he might get here.”

“He’ll probably show up later,” said Dumbledore, and James smiled sheepishly. “What about you two?” he turned to Harry and the Doctor, who exchanged anxious look.

“You found - the information?” Harry asked cautiously, and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, as if asking whether he ever had a doubt. Harry swallowed. “Then we’re ready.”

They left almost immediately. Harry barely had the time to say goodbye to his parents, these two strangers who had no idea who he was.

“Good luck,” Lily whispered softly while shaking his hand.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, huh?” James said with a smile, and Harry just nodded at the two of them. James stood next to Lily with his arm wrapped around her, and she was leaning on him softly, and they waved, just like Harry always imagined they would.

“Time to go,” the Doctor said, looking at Harry, but not with that infuriating knowing look he used to get from his friends whenever he thought something that had happened was connected to his parents, but with real sadness and understanding. Harry could not begrudge him that - he remembered the Doctor’s own encounter with the Master, and knew the Doctor could understand perfectly well his yearning. He really did know, and if he thought of Harry differently because of his behaviour just now, Harry didn’t mind. They were his parents, and he would never see them again.

Dumbledore didn’t realise the importance of that moment to Harry, of course. As soon as they were in the street, and the Potters were back inside, he turned to the Doctor and Harry. “The individual you were looking for will be in the Leaky Cauldron in about five minutes,” he said hurriedly. Harry took another look at him, and wondered whether Dumbledore had any sleep that night at all. He looked just as tired and worried as he did when he left them the night before. “He is under orders from Voldemort... you would be best to stop him before he manages to cause too much damage.”

“Don’t worry,” the Doctor gave one of his huge, charming grins. “We’ll stop him from causing any more trouble.”

“Why him, Doctor? Why him specifically? Why not Voldemort himself?” Dumbledore gave the Doctor one of those probing looks Harry knew so well. “Why not stop this war, before any more innocent people die?” he sounded bitter and angry. And Harry wondered whether it was also fear in his voice, even if that was one emotion he could never associate with this powerful wizard.

“You know why,” the Doctor said. “I can’t.”

Dumbledore sighed. “You go anywhere in the universe, show up and save the day against impossible odds, fight terrible creatures and even worse people... oh, I’m not so old as to forget,” he said with a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I always assumed you would show up here, if you’re ever needed. A boy’s dream, of course, which I would not have mentioned in different company.” He flashed a smile at Harry. “I think you would understand, even if I’m not quite sure who you are exactly.”

“But you have some pretty good guesses, and your guesses are usually correct,” Harry completed the sentence for him. For a second, Dumbledore looked shocked, then laughed out loud.

“Well said, young man. Well said. But I know better than to ask for confirmation, as our friendly alien here might disapprove. Well,” he turned to the Doctor, “you have about three minutes left, so I suggest you get going.”

“Thank you,” the Doctor said, and Harry echoed the words after him.

“Good luck,” Dumbledore said and turned on the spot. Harry gave the Doctor his arm and did the same.

Harry didn’t want to Apparate straight into the Leaky Cauldron. It was too dangerous, he thought - what if Marvin was already there, what if he saw them, what if a spy was waiting exactly for that? Instead, he Apparated into Diagon Alley, appearing in one of the alleys that forked off the main road - not quite Knockturn Alley, but close enough. If anyone was waiting for one of Dumbledore’s allies, he figured, they would not expect them there.

“Diagon Alley!” the Doctor said with bright-eyed enthusiasm as he realised where they were, and Harry had to nudge him in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, lest they missed their target. The Doctor, despite wearing an expression of a child who was just forced to put back a candy, followed.

It was still early in the morning. The streets were almost deserted. Most shops were not open yet, only a handful of wizards and witches already showed up at work. They could see the Leaky Cauldron in front of them - it also looked deserted. Being an inn as well as a pub, Harry knew it would be open, even if from where they were standing the windows were dark and uninviting.

They entered the pub through a back door. Once again, Harry thought longingly of his Invisibility Cloak and how easier it could have made things, but there was no time for regrets. As soon as they walked into the pub, he could see Marvin’s slender figure; his dark and well trimmed hair; his black robes, much cleaner than he remembered his Messaline clothes; and his face decorated by that small moustache that should have been a hint but wasn’t, not soon enough. A surge of anger rose in Harry. He was angry at his carefully chosen clothes. He was furious with his stylish haircut. He stared at the small pretentious beard and all he could see was the smug expression of a person who he thought was nice and kind, but turned out to be selfish and unscrupulous, a person who was willing to bring about the death of so many people, and for what? The sooner they get him where he could do no damage, the better.

“He would try to Disapparate if he notices us,” Harry whispered.

“You think? I’m not sure he can do that,” the Doctor whispered back.

“He’s been here a while, hasn’t he? He didn’t just show up yesterday.”

“Yeah, but isn’t Apparating while you’re under distress hard?”

“Not that hard,” Harry retorted.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Some sort of anti-Apparition charm?”

“Do you know any?”

Harry considered for a moment. “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

“So that’s no good, then. Listen, can he Apparate from within the pub?”

Harry didn’t think of that. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if we lose him...”

“Well, better make sure we don’t then, huh? Maybe I’ll approach him, and if it looks like he might be getting away, just stun him or something.”

“What, here?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

Harry shrugged. The Doctor, of course, had a point. The plan still sounded ridiculous, but then, so did the their plan on Messaline, and that one turned out alright, more or less. He pulled out his wand and gave the Doctor the go-ahead, and the Doctor left the shadows and walked straight towards Marvin.

“Marvin, old mate!” he said with such unexpected loud enthusiasm that Harry jumped. He wasn’t the only one - Marvin, it was obvious, didn’t expect to be recognised here, least of all by the Doctor.

“I - I’m sorry?” he asked.

“What? Don’t you remember me?” the Doctor sounded almost insulted.

Marvin started looking around the almost deserted pub, searching for help. There was no one to give it, of course. Even Tom the barman had not yet come down.

“Well, Doctor,” he said, sounding a bit too friendly, “of course I remember you! Who could ever forget?” he gave a short, nervous laughter. “I just didn’t expect to find you here of all places!”

“Oh?” the Doctor said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Why not? I love a good drink. I mean, I love Muggle drinks too, of course, but sometimes butterbeer is just what you need in the morning, don’t you think? A good pick-me-up is the best way to start the day, that’s what I always say!”

“Yeah, you’re quite right, of course,” Marvin said, still scanning the empty room in barely-concealed panic. “Say, where’s your friend?”

“My friend?”

“The one with the dark hair. And the scar. The one with the scar. Harry.”

“You mean me?” Harry revealed himself, moving from the shadows into the light. Marvin jumped again.

“Oh, hi, Harry,” he said in an unnaturally high voice.

“Hi, Marvin,” Harry said coldly, not bothering to maintain the façade of friendliness, as the Doctor did.

“What are you doing here?” Marvin cut to the point, no longer tried to disguise his nervousness.

“Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing. Aren’t you going to be born in 4,000 years or so?”

Marvin gave him a terrified look. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to break down and beg, or try to explain himself, much like Wormtail did when he was caught, but Marvin didn’t do any of these things. Instead, he turned around and darted into the darkness, through the same door Harry and the Doctor entered through, and into Diagon Alley.

“Catch - “ Harry didn’t even finish the sentence. His wand ahead of him, he started chasing after Marvin, the Doctor closely behind.

Harry sent a Stunning curse after him, but missed. The curse exploded loudly at the front of Eeylop’s Owl Emporium, causing the glass to shatter and the various owls inside to screech and hoot. Marvin stopped for long enough to turn around and send his own curse towards Harry and the Doctor. They ducked, and Madam Malkin’s shop took the brunt of it. It wasn’t a Stunning spell, Harry realised as the shop’s roof caved in and they had no choice but flee forward as fast as possible. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, and missed again. Instead, books flew everywhere - he accidentally hit the young wizard who was rearranging the bargain bins in front of Flourish and Blotts. Ignoring the wizard’s dirty looks, they went onwards, and Harry sent another Stunning spell. This time it worked - he didn’t quite hit Marvin, but the power of the spell was enough to get Florean Fortescue out of his small room next to the ice cream stall. The ice-cream seller quickly assessed the situation, and, recognising Marvin as a Death Eater, chose his side. He sent a Disarming spell that hit the young man square in the back. Marvin stumbled and fell, his wand several feet ahead of him. The Doctor hurried to him quickly and grabbed him, before he could run again.

Panting, Harry stopped next to Florean. “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem,” Florean grumbled. “Don’t like to see Death Eaters get away.”

“He won’t,” Harry reassured him and walked towards the Doctor and Marvin.

“Don’t be mad!” Marvin said as he approached, panting as well.

“‘Don’t be mad’?” Harry repeated incredulous. “You’re working for Voldemort!”

“You don’t understand! I did this for you. For both of us - for all of us. For wizards. So that we don’t have to live in hiding anymore, or lose our powers. I did this for the wizards!”

“Voldemort won! How did you do this for me?! How did you do this for all the wizards and witches he’s killed? I’m dead in the reality you’ve created!” Harry didn’t realise he was shouting. It wasn’t just his anger with Marvin, or the fear of the past several days. It wasn’t even the shock of night before, of the image of his parents standing there and hugging each other that was still burnt into his mind. It was his anger with the past year, the wizards who cooperated with the Ministry under Voldemort. His fear as he walked to the forest. His grief for Remus and Tonks and Fred and all the people he would never see again, and his grief for his parents and Sirius and Dumbledore and the rest of the good people Voldemort had killed over the years. And Marvin stood there and looked almost offended that he didn’t understand.

“I did it for wizards! You said it yourself! We’re in hiding in this time! We’re pretending we’re Muggles! We’re ashamed of who we are! I did it to help us!”

“Voldemort - kills - people!”

“Look, I know it’s bad at first. I’m not going to pretend I like his methods - “

“ - But you’re still helping him!”

“And I definitely disagree with the whole pure-blood thing, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Then why are you helping him?!”

“But!” Marvin tried talking over Harry’s shouting. “It’s like with the Daleks, Harry! Can’t you see? It has to get worse before it can get better. Voldemort’s crazy ideas can’t live for long! People won’t stand up to it. It’ll change. And I know people are dying, and I’m sorry for that, really I am! But some people are living. Your parents - “

“ - He’s going to kill my parents anyway!”

“You don’t know that! I heard from Snape, he heard that prophecy yesterday, I’m going to tell him not to go after your parents! Isn’t that good?”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “So he can kill Neville’s parents instead now, only to kill my mum in fourteen years?”

“No! It won’t happen that way! It doesn’t have to. And when this is all over, wizards and Muggles would all be better for it!”

“No they won’t! You think Voldemort is just going to step down - “

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marvin cut across him, as if speaking to a child. “He’ll die in the end.”

“You’re not getting it!” Harry shouted. “He won’t! That was the point! Why do you think he didn’t die when his curse rebounded on him, after he tried to kill me? You don’t understand the things you’re messing with! He’s made himself immortal!”

“But you killed him, in the end,” Marvin looked worried for a moment. “That bloke said so, Malfoy’s son. He’s not immortal, he - “

“You’re dealing with magic you’ve never heard of and you don’t understand,” Harry repeated, still seething, but no longer shouting. “And your ‘greater good’ has never worked. Ever. And you’re just going to let so many people die for nothing. As long as you get to live, and get what you want, you’re going to let all of them die.”

“No, Harry, it’s like you said. The greater good. Some people have to die, but in the end, it’s going to be better.”

“No,” Harry stared at him. “It won’t. You can’t just go on killing people and say that it’s for their own good.”

“I’m sorry,” Marvin said, now cold as well, a stubborn look on his face. “But I won’t let you stop me. You don’t know what it’s like, to grow knowing all the things you could be, but never quite able to do them. Now things will be different.”

“No,” Harry answered. “They won’t. You got it all wrong.”

Marvin just stared at him.

“And we’re not going to let you mess with them any further.”

“You can’t stop me,” Marvin said defiantly. “The things I’m going to start here are too big for that!”

Harry didn’t answer or bother to argue. Instead, he just grabbed brutally at Marvin’s arm, and in the other held the Doctor, and turned on the spot. He was taking him back to Hogsmeade, back to the Hog’s head, back to the Tardis. And the Doctor, he knew, would make sure Marvin never sets foot outside of his time again.

As soon as they re-appeared in front of Hogsmeade, Marvin pulled free from Harry’s grip. He tried Apparating, but couldn’t - his wand was still on the pavement in Diagon Alley.

“That’s better,” Harry said in grim satisfaction. “Now you’re back where you started. Can’t do magic. I guess that wand was the one you took with you from Messaline?”

Marvin looked around like a cornered animal. But Hogsmeade, like Diagon Alley, was still abandoned. There would be no help here, either. Eventually, he nodded.

“So now, you’ll just go back there without it.”

“But I learned so much here!” Marvin protested. “I can do so much. You can’t take it away from me! Not after all I’ve seen, what a real wizarding society is like! I’ve lived here for years now!”

“Well, then, you probably miss home,” Harry answered coldly.

“But they’re Muggles! What do I have with them?”

“Same thing you always had. You have a whole society to rebuild, now that the Daleks are gone. Better get to it.”

“But I can’t go back,” he said almost pathetically. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” the Doctor said quietly. And then looked at Harry. “Do you want to come, or -”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t want to see Messaline again, not really. Didn’t want to have to explain to these people what they were doing there. How they were bringing Marvin back. But he didn’t quite know how to say that.

He didn’t have to. The Doctor understood. He grabbed Marvin unceremoniously, and shoved him into the Tardis. Marvin didn’t bother objecting. “See you in a bit,” he said, and closed the door behind him. The Tardis disappeared.

 

*

 

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the street. It became busier and busier. The post office opened, owls soon setting out to their various deliveries. Zonko’s opened as well, a few young wizards already waiting at the door. Aberforth came out of the Hog’s Head for a moment, sweeping the entrance. He gave him a long look, then shrugged. Harry wasn’t sure whether that was a greeting or not, but didn’t bother acknowledging it. Soon Aberforth went back inside. Straight ahead, he could see the Hogwarts Astronomy tower. The village was peaceful and quiet, but Harry didn’t notice. He thought about Marvin, how he chose to let so many people die to make his dream happen, and of his parents who faced the unknown so bravely, and of Severus Snape, the one he remembered and the one he only just met, working relentlessly to correct old mistakes.

By the time the familiar whizzing sound was heard again and the blue box rematerialised in front of him, his eyes were dry, his expression set, and he knew where he wanted to go next.

But the door didn’t open. The Doctor didn’t come out. Instead, Harry walked to it, put his palm on the surprisingly warm handle, and pushed the door open gingerly. The Doctor was sitting on the chairs in front of the console, deep in thought.

“He won’t be able to come here again,” he said. “He only managed to do it in the first place because the time-turners were connected to the Tardis. But I made sure he won’t get another opportunity.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked to the chairs, and sat down next to the Doctor.

“Time to go home?” the Doctor asked.

“Almost,” Harry answered. He didn’t need to explain any further. The Doctor already knew.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Harry smiled as well. The Doctor punched a button or two, pulled a lever, and they were gone.


	16. Who Watches The Watchers (Epilogue)

The golden hall was designed to bring awe to the hearts of those who walked into it. It was huge, full of fireplaces and doors. At the centre - a water fountain. It had changed somewhat over the years. Several years ago, it depicted a wizard and a witch, standing at the centre, adored by magical creatures such as centaurs, goblins and house elves. Only a couple of months ago it showed something else entirely - a witch and a wizard, trampling those who were deemed inferior, and the words ‘Magic is might’ carved next to them.

Now, the fountain at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic was just a fountain. No statues decorated it, no lies were told and no dishonest depiction of reality was given. Whether it would stay that way or be replaced by something else in the future, no one knew. But the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had ordered both the old and the new depiction removed. It is time, he said, we be honest with each other. Not everyone liked that insinuation. Not everyone approved of what some were whispering was a grovelling in front of Muggles, Muggle-borns, or inferior creatures. But so far no one dared say a word, and for now that was the best anyone could ask.

Alfred, the security wizard at the entrance, gave the fountain one last look, then turned back to his newspaper. No one else was in the hall. Usually it was busy at all hours, until the very last of the Ministry’s employees left home. Today, of course, was different. Anyone who was anyone already arrived an hour ago, to catch the best seats. All the Ministry’s employees were down in the Department of Mysteries.The trials had got a lot of attention, and no one wanted to miss them. Everyone wanted to see justice served. Some said everyone wanted to see revenge - these were the exact words the Minister for Magic had said that morning to Arthur Weasley as the two came to work. But Alfred didn’t agree. And if they were after revenge, so what? Alfred had lost his job for a whole year because of those Death Eater scum, and he could do with a little bit of revenge right now.

All of a sudden, a weird whizzing sound was heard throughout the hall. Alfred raised his head in surprise, but didn’t see anything. He didn’t notice that in the far corner, where before there was nothing, there stood a blue box. He didn’t even hear footsteps, until the wizard was right in front of him.

“Visitor?” he grumbled, not bothering to raise his head from the Daily Prophet.

“Yes,” said the visitor.

“I’ll need to inspect your wand.”

“Of course,” the wizard said, and handed it over. Alfred put it in the scales, and took out the note. “Holly and phoenix, 11 inches?”

“Yeah, that’s mine,” the wizard said.

“Alright, then, I’ll just need you to sign this - “ he shoved the note towards the visitor - “this is yours, this is mine, very well, go on then.”

The wizard went through into the Ministry. Alfred looked at the note for a second, and the signature on it. He raised his eyes in surprise just in time to see a man with untidy black hair going in the lift. “Hey - wait - !” he called, but Harry Potter was already gone.

His destination, as Alfred had guessed correctly, was the courtroom in the Department of Mysteries, where the most recent of trials was taking place. Even though every chair was occupied, the room was completely quiet. All eyes were fixed on the young man with blond hair who was sitting on a chair at the centre of the room, his arms and legs chained.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said the wizard in front of him. “We have now finished reviewing the case against you. Unless you have any more witnesses to call, this court is ready to pass judgement.” A small muttering went through the crowd. They were all staring intently at the accused. No one had heard the great doors being opened.

And then, everything stopped. “Wait!” they heard a voice, and Harry Potter walked into the courtroom. The murmurs continued, much stronger than before, and accompanied Harry all the way to the stand. But as he got there, everyone fell silent again, watching him intently.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” said the prosecuting wizard. “We have been expecting you, as per the summons.”

“I am not here to testify for the prosecution,” Harry said. The entire room seemed to hold their breath.

“I beg your pardon?” asked a Wizengamot member.

“I am here to testify for the defence,” Harry said. The courtroom became a cacophony of voices, excited, angry, disappointed or relieved.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard,” said another member. “I thought you said you were going to testify for the defence?”

“Yes. Draco Malfoy was indeed a Death Eater - ” murmurs spread again throughout the room, and Harry had to raise his voice, “but there are things you need to know.”

“Such as?” someone asked coldly, and Harry turned to the source and recognised Lavender Brown, her face still bearing the scars of her encounter with Fenrir Greyback.

“Some things about choices,” Harry said pleasantly. “If I may speak to the court?”

 

*

 

The Trial was over, the verdict given, but Draco Malfoy was still sitting in his chair. Security wizards surrounded him, as he was no longer chained, but made no effort to escort him out. Even they looked too scandalous to remove their prisoner back to his cell. Usually, the verdict of a Death Eater would be accompanied by hisses and boos, but this time, the audience said nothing. They were too shocked, shocked by the testimony they had just heard as well as by the person who carried it.

Draco himself didn’t seem to see anyone, just stared at the space in front of him. Harry was not even sure he understood what had just happened. He approached the chair. “You’re going to be alright?” he asked quietly.

“I can survive three months,” Malfoy said quietly, without emotion.

Harry nodded, and turned to leave.

“Potter,” Malfoy called. But as Harry turned back towards him, he did not seem able to say a thing.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, and rushed towards the exit, where a tall figure in a long brown coat could just be seen leaving.

The Doctor, of course, was waiting for him across the hall, next to his blue box. He wore one of his big, mad grins, but one of his genuine ones, not those that were trying to hide the pain. At this moment, he was truly happy. Harry started to think he might understand this, after all.

“You did good, Harry,” the Doctor said.

“He didn’t deserve a life time in that place,” Harry said simply.

“No,” the Doctor agreed. “He didn’t. Some people aren’t going to be happy with you, mind.”

“Who cares? I’m Harry Potter. Right now I can do whatever I want.”

The Doctor burst in laughter.

“Well,” Harry corrected himself, “almost everything.”

Still smiling, the Doctor took a wand out of one of his various pockets, and handed it over to Harry. Harry looked at it with hesitation, but didn’t reach for it. “This is yours,” the Doctor said. “Found it on the Tardis floor.”

“Keep it,” Harry said immediately. The Elder Wand remained for a moment between them, and then the Doctor took it back and put it in his pocket. “Practice some more magic,” Harry said absent-mindedly. “Who knows, maybe in fifty years you’d be able to conjure up a Patronus?”

The Doctor snorted. “With my luck, it would be a robot dog.”

Harry had a feeling there was more to this comment than the Doctor’s usual cryptic nature, but chose not to comment about it. There was something more important to ask. “You’re leaving, then?”

“Things to see, the universe is waiting no one!”

“Except the man with the time machine.”

“Well, maybe,” the Doctor conceded.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked, and could almost believe the Doctor’s smile when he said “I’m always alright.”

“And what about you?” the Doctor asked.

Harry thought this over for a moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I’ll be alright, too. In the end.”

“Yeah,” agreed the Doctor. “I think you would. Anyway! Time to go.”

“Will I ever see you again?” the question escaped Harry before he had the chance to think it properly, but he was not surprised to discover he really did mean it.

“Of course you will! Life like yours, how could I resist?”

“Watching over me?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, someone needs to,” the Doctor pointed out.

Harry was quiet for a moment. He thought of a redheaded woman who shone like the brightest star for a moment, and was now lost forever. He thought of nightmare creatures roaming around the universe, and fights that never end. He thought of a planet burning, and of yearning and sadness that could destroy anyone, even wise aliens. “And who watches over you?” Harry asked.

The Doctor didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to the Tardis, and opened the door. “Goodbye, Harry Potter,” he said.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

He waited until the blue box disappeared, and the corridor was quiet again. Only then did he cross the hall to the lifts, and went back home.

 

There were many stories of aliens in the next several years, stories told by Muggles and wizards alike. Most people didn’t take them seriously. After all, everyone knew that aliens were the stuff of books, of television and of people’s imagination. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t real.

Just like magic.

When spaceships started falling from the skies, and alien life visited Earth openly, the wizarding world was just as baffled as the Muggle one. The Daily Prophet had released a series of articles, trying to claim it was all a hoax some unwise wizards were playing on the Muggles. The Muggles, on the other hand, blamed everyone but the real culprit - the aliens. And Harry Potter followed all these news reports, to the exasperation of his family and friends. What are you looking for? they asked, but he didn’t answer. He just scanned photographs, television reports and stories, and they shrugged it off as one of those weird habits of the famous Harry Potter. And at night, he would get out and look at the sky, wondering whether today was the day. He would scan the sky, then go back inside, and hug his kids and give a kiss to his wife, and when they would ask what he was doing out there, he would say in his maddening cryptic way that he was watching for a small, blue box.


End file.
